I took the liberty of printing my own chapbook. I just wanted to see how it felt to have something in print that I could show everyone and pass out. It’s a bunch of vignettes about growing up in Allentown, PA in the 1980s and 1990s.
My newest flash fiction video. Written, performed, and filmed by mavthewriter.
(A joke that I wrote and performed for stand-up. It’s okay. I didn’t understand the joke myself.)
So, every time I drive by the mall, I’ve seen a man in a gorilla costume holding a sign for discount haircuts. But the other day, I noticed that he wasn’t in the gorilla costume. So, I asked him what happened to the costume and he tells me that he’s an actual gorilla and it’s a human costume he’s wearing. Then he even takes off the human mask to show me that he’s a gorilla. Then he says, “Don’t worry, they pay me the most you could give a gorilla…100 bananas.” So I ask him, “100 bananas? What’s the minimum wage, a banana smoothie?” And he says, “No, a gorilla costume.”
by Marc Alexander Valle ©2018
“My mom says I gotta separate the laundry before we can play games,” Sal said. “Want to help?”
It was my first sleepover and this was new to me. My mom never let me touch the laundry. I said yes.
“Whites, darks, and lights,” he said. “That’s how you pile them up, Marc.”
I dug into one of the two bins that was closest to me.
This is dark.
This is light.
This is white.
Until all three piles formed into mounds.
“You’re a liar,” he joked. “You’ve done this before.”
“Nah-uh. First time.”
This is dark.
This is light
This is white.
Holy snap! It’s got doo-doo on it!
I backed away from the bin.
“What’s the matter?” Sal said, continuing his work.
“You’re not gonna help?”
“Yeah. I gotta go to the bathroom.”
“Well, can it wait? Just a little more, right?”
That had to be the only dirty underwear in there.
Maybe it was just a one-time thing.
“All right,” I said.
I stared at the bin. Another pair of white underwear stared back.
“It’s just clothes,” he said. “It’s not gonna bite.”
I couldn’t tell if it was soiled. It was too crumpled up. Not enough light.
I’ll grab the elastic. You can’t do boom-boom on the elastic.
“I’m done on my end,” he said. “Anymore?”
Maybe I can pretend I don’t see anything.
“What’s the matter, slowpoke?” he said, laughing.
I kept staring, debating, not wanting him to know that I knew.
“Everything is small,” I said to Mrs. Reed, my second grade teacher.
“What do you mean, hun?” she said.
“Like everything I see is small.”
“What do you mean by small, sweetheart?”
“Like. . .I don’t know…small.”
“Well, does your head hurt?”
“Are you dizzy?”
“Is your belly achy?”
“Do you have to do a number 2?”
“Then I can’t send you to the nurse, hun. Sit down.”
The entire world looked like a miniature model. Whenever I experienced this state of consciousness, I told myself, “I’m really here. I’m really here. I’m really here. I’m really here. . .”Supposedly, the name of this neurological condition is called Alice-in-Wonderland syndrome, or Lilliputian hallucinations. The condition is marked by the feeling that the physical environment around the individual has shrunk. It’s usually experienced in childhood and passes in time as was the case for me.
Scientist are now starting to express the theory that reality is a hologram and that we are not really here. Try telling that to Mrs. Reed. She’ll send you to get a drink of water and sit you out for recess.