MindFull of Sister

By Maverick T Valkyrie

MindFull of Sister is a Zany and fast paced Dark Comedy/Mystery, for Adults, that follows the life of an eccentric 25 year old named Zavier T Lowman, after his three year stay in a local Psychiatric hospital. When Zavier's sister is “Murdered” by her landlord; a powerful and evil man, Zavier becomes homeless and mentally unstable. He makes it his mission in life to: 1.Avenge her death, no matter what the cost. 2. Become Wealthy so he can move out of an abandonded Woolworths store basement and marry his Sweet Heart “Jasmine Desroche”...oh... and 3. Live the “high Life” in his Castle by the sea.
Zavier and his “best “friend” Mappy go from Rags to Riches as they scam their way to prosperity. From defacing buildings with Grafitti, so they can get cleaning contracts, to selling Marijuanna in cheap garden gnomes statues “Promoted and peddled as “Fine Art” The book is completely filled with crazy stories that will give the reader countless laughs and awkward moments that will make you shake your head at the foolishness and cleverness of it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maverick T Valkyrie
• Release date: Aug 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310356551

Maverick T Valkyrie

About the Author Maverick T Valkyrie established himself as a Folk Artist on Prince Edward Island over twenty years ago. His work is enjoyed across the Maritimes, and even as far away as Japan. In 1998 he was commissioned to create a piece for former Prime Minister Jean Chretien. Called, “Between Both Worlds”, the small statue featured a child holding a planet in each hand, and was symbolic of the issue of child poverty in Canada, a subject that is close to Mr.Valkyries heart. The artist is especially known for his distinctive chainsaw carvings, exotic-wood plaques, and paintings. As a musician, Maverick recorded a 45 vinyl single at the age of 21, and also released a full-length C.D. featuring eight original songs. His most recent recording was The George’s Grill Project, a tribute to a thirty-year veteran of the corner store trade, Charlottetown’s George Rashed. As lead singer for “Silver Fire”, he entertained audiences across the Island, making time each month to support charitable organizations such as the I.W.K., and the Charlottetown Food Bank. Maverick also made families with sick and terminally ill children a priority through benefit performances and fund-raisers. After writing “The Begerkz – Shipwrecked On Planet Earth” for his imaginative children, Valkyrie decided to bring the characters to life as puppets. Kaluka, Laleafa, Motley and Koo Koo will soon star in their own movie short, which will be produced with the help of funding from Tech P.E.I. Maverick has been writing for over 25yrs, since age 18.

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MindFull of Sister

Copyright 2014 Maverick Valkyrie

Published by Troy Lund at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About The Author

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Prologue

MindFull of Sister

Written by Maverick T Valkyrie

The main character is an extremely delusional young man; his worldview is tarnished and warped at best. He can be logical and sane one moment, then quite insane the next depending on the nature of the triggers he perceives in his environment.

The timeline and plot jump around a lot, but you will understand why, when you finish reading this book. P.S. I know that Me and Mappy should be pronounced Mappy and I but that is how the main character speaks. He can speak eloquently as easily as he can speak trashy. His mind is a splintered paradox at best.

Although this book is a work of fiction, many of the characters were real people I have encountered throughout my life. I changed their names to protect their identities and I would like to thank them or all of the great material for this book. It is the Real Characters in life, that make it most interesting.

The Psychiatric hospital was beautifully located beside a huge lake. When you first walk outside of the building you see the winding asphalt drive way that leads to the highway. Behind that, on some grass, was a black wooden cast iron bench for the patients to sit on; with the emerald green lake as a backdrop. The bench was situated between a small pine tree forest on the left and the right of it. There were wild flowers beneath the bench, such as Lupines, buttercups and dandy lions; the same wildflowers you would find throughout the forest path that ran behind the bench and down to the riverbank. There were too many different varieties of wildflowers along the riverbank to even count, which made the hospital grounds look more like the well groomed estate of a celebrity; definitely a peaceful and healing atmosphere. It was quiet and beautiful for any person’s standards, but it still wasn't a place you wanted to call home for any length of time.

Introduction of Main Character

Zavier took one quick look back at the faded lime green walls before he pushed open the cold, aluminum framed glass doors of the Psychiatric hospital. He wasn't but one foot outside the institution when his roommate Danny yelled Stop! Please STOP! Zavier! Danny needs a favor!! Zavier always joked that Danny could stop the Space Shuttle with that annoying high pitched voice of his. Danny’s voice was constantly hoarse from frequent screaming episodes; it was always hoarse, high pitched and loud. He just wanted his friend of three years to come back in for one final goodbye, but Zavier have didn’t want to.

Zavier playfully nicknamed his roomate Delicate Danny ‘cause Dan had an extremely fragile disposition and he reveled in flaunting it. Dan had a lucid temperament akin to that of an old army vet with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and one tiny incident alone could trigger Danny into a full scale mental meltdown. Dan enjoyed being explosive and he never failed to put all of the flare and glory that any good preacher would put into his attention grabbing show. Poor old Danny was a lifer there at the hospital so no one could blame him for his frequent screaming outbreaks; the hospital was a hard place to get attention from at the best of times.

Zavier stopped in his tracks and he started to slam his foot into the ground a few times while he decided if he would go back to see what Danny wanted.

What did that wing nut want now? Zavier asked himself. I just gotta get outta here, three years was long enough he was thinking. He quickly turned around to acknowledge Danny in hopes of finding a fast resolution to whatever crisis Danny was perceiving. Zavier took a calming breath and then he walked back inside the front doors of the hospital. Danny was generously holding the doors open and he was smiling like a madman. Danny looked like the comedian Steve Carell. Steve was one of Zavier's favorite comedians. Zavier would always get Danny to do some impersonations of Mr. Carell and he did a good job. At least Zavier thought so.

Zavier stood a few inches away from Danny and he folded his arms to show that he was all business. Of course he wasn’t all business but he knew that giving Danny an inch meant that he would eventually steal a mile so Zavier had to show some tough love to his roomie so he could get gone from the goonie garage for good .

What Dan? What buddy? You knew I was leaving today man. You'll be OK dude I promise. Zavier gave Danny one final guy hug and a few extra smokes before he walked away again. He knew that this was just separation anxiety and that Danny’s short term memory would help him forget his friend Zavier within a day or two anyways. Danny seemed satisfied with the two kind gestures but Zavier still felt bad leaving him behind. He promised himself that he would go and visit Danny as much as possible ‘cause he knew how easily the institution crushed the spirits of all its residents.

When Zavier pushed open the doors to leave again his first instinct was to put some serious distance between himself and his prison of three years. He quipped to himself that he would probably take more time leaving a burning building then he would that hospital. WHEW!! Sweet Jesus! Zavier shouted as he scanned his beautiful environment. Freedom at last! Man Oh Man! The air is fresh out here! Three Years of my stinking life gone... and for what? I had a little bout of depression. Pah leese!! Give me a break!! They'd lock a fella up in the nuthouse for just about anything these fucking days. Stupid Psychiatrists and Doctors. I mean R e a l l y Docs? Three years of hard time for depression?? What a bunch of idiots!

As Zavier stood there on the hospital grounds he mused deeply about how much easier life was when he was a child. Yes he thought to himself I just wish I was thirteen again ‘cause life back then was a hell of a lot smoother and easier than it is today; that’s for damn sure!

He lit a cigarette and he tried to recall some of the great times he had as a younger man.

Chapter One

Twelve Years Earlier

The sun was brightly shining directly overhead causing the golden grass in the fields to heat up to an almost dangerous level; it was so dry, the trees were bribing the dogs.

It was late summer and the children were scattered all around the neighborhood as they tried to enjoy their last few weeks of freedom. The noon time sky was a soft baby blue; apparently all of the clouds were hiding in someone else’s skyscape that day.

Little Braydons’ big brown eyes were wide with excitement; man was he ever pleased to see me pull into his driveway with my Dicki Dee ice-cream vendor’s cart.

He was standing in front of his parent’s small three bedroom bungalow shack and he was visibly vibrating like a jackhammer on full speed. I never charged him for any ice cream treats ‘cause I knew that he had no money; besides that he was really fun to watch when he got all jacked up on sugar. After he ate an ice cream cone or a pop sicle he would run around like a little Tasmanian Dirt Devil. He would terrorize his two sisters with a hose or anything that he could get his little evil hands on. Watching Braydon was more entertaining and much cheaper than going to the movies so it was worth the tiny loss in profits.

His parents seemed nice enough, but they were so poor, they probably got married for the rice. I always wondered why poor folks had children in the first place; I mean I wouldn’t even buy a ferret if I couldn’t afford to feed it, so what goes through their minds when they say they want a child is beyond me. They must get over influenced by TV and shows like the Brady Bunch, The Cosby Show and The Partridge Family I suppose.

Their bungalow was a sight for sore eyes if it was a sight for anything. It wasn't blue, it wasn't green it was just an ugly, indescribable color that evolved from decades of neglect. The years had aggressively warped the bungalow’s Abitibi siding and most would agree that the old house needed to be torn down but the families low income would probably guarantee its survival for a few more years at least.

Braydon was one of those seven year olds that had eyes too large for his little skull. He reminded me of an extremely happy Owl or a brown eyed alien. My jury was still out on which description fit him best but I was leaning towards the Owl more-so then the Alien. WHOO knows. His sandy brown hair was recently chopped in a rough bowl cut fashion, leaving the odd long strand that he would have to push out of his eyes every ten seconds or so. Sure, I laughed at his new hairdo when I first saw it. My mom was a professional hairstylist so I knew a good hair cut when I saw it and little Braydon had a bad haircut for certain. No big deal; it happens to the best of us right? We were standing face to face on his dusty dirt driveway and I bit my bottom lip a little while I asked him which bowl his mother used when she cut his hair. He turned on a dime, he ran inside the house, he ran back out of the house and then he handed me one of those 1970s style brown solid wooden bowls. As I held the bowl out for inspection I swallowed fairly hard and then I said Yep! This is the exact same kinda bowl my mom uses on me Bray Bray. He seemed really pleased to know that even big guys like me preferred that type of bowl for a sharp looking hairdo.

Little Braydon was the sweetest little guy ever and I don’t wanna sound mean, but he really reminded me of that dirty little guy they call PigPen from the Charlie Brown cartoons. He always seemed to be totally covered in dirt of some kind, like he was some sort of dirt collecting specialist. Braydon’s face always had dirt smudges on it, he hands were always covered in dirt of some kind and you could tell that he wore the same clothes for weeks and weeks at a time. The clothes must have felt like cardboard against his skin, but ignorance is bliss so he didn’t complain about it none. The poor little guy always looked like he rolled across the ground instead of walking across it, but I suppose it was just his style, and who was I to judge him?

Now I'm sure that his mom loved him, but I wasn't totally convinced that she fed him that often. He was so tiny he could hand glide off a Doritos Chip. His parents had always been friends of my parents so I saw him quite often; at least once or twice a week. He lived on the top of a huge hill and I lived on the bottom.

I worked each summer driving a three wheeled ice cream vendors cart that was filled with Astro Bomb Pops, Klondike bars, Ice Cream sandwiches, Fudge sticks, push up cones, you name it. The cart I drove around weighed several hundred pounds and it was really hard to start and to stop. It had dozens of steel water filled discs inside the freezer compartment that kept the product inside frozen and the ice box was connected to half a bicycle. To drive it you would sit on the half bicycle part that consisted of one wheel, one seat, two pedals and a huge chrome bar in front of you that was bolted to the fiberglass container box. You would pedal it like a normal bike and steer it with the huge chrome bar. The box had two huge knobby rubber tires to support it and it took tons of energy to drive that sucker around.

Braydon liked to sit on top of the cart sometimes. I don't know why he did but I suppose it was ‘cause he could see more from up there. I used to drive him around a little on top of the cart whenever I was in the neighborhood but never down the hill that went to my house. That hill was extremely steep and if I drove down it too fast it would be almost impossible to stop.

One day I had Braydon on top of the cart and we were parked on the top of that nasty steep hill. I was goofing around a little trying to frighten Braydon. I would let the cart go backwards down the hill for a few feet and then I would squeal on the brakes to stop us. Braydon liked a good scare and he would always belly laugh after the initial shock of it was over. I kept doing the same thing but each time I would let us go down the hill further. Well that ended up being the last time I would try that stupid trick. The pedals were going backwards like bike pedals do and before I knew it they were spinning backwards faster than I could deal with. There was no way for me to get my feet back on the pedals to stop the bike so down the hill Braydon and I went; backwards and dangerously fast. When I felt brave enough I looked over my shoulder and I saw the huge, six foot deep ditch approaching fast.

To make a long story short the ass of the bike dropped into the ditch and the momentum along with the sudden stop caused the box of the ice cream cart to catapult Braydon into the air. I could hear him screaming all the way down the hill. He stopped for a millisecond when the bike went into the ditch but then he started screaming again as he was thrown over thirty feet across the field behind us. He never seemed to want to sit on the top of my cart after that.

When I got home I was covered in deep scratches and cuts. My father wasn’t very pleased with my stupidity so he grounded me for two weeks and each day I had chop wood and do more chores then I would have to if I was in a forced labor camp. Each day as I worked my ass off I kept reminding myself that I would be an adult soon enough and then my life would be easier and less troublesome. Yep. Life will be a hellava lot easier as an adult I guessed.

Main Character Present day

Hey there! My name is Zavier T Lowman and I am 25 yrs old. I live in downtown Toronto, Canada and I make my living from the streets. It's just a temporary gig ‘cause I have big plans and one day soon I am going to become extremely wealthy. When that happens I will be living the high life in a large way and I will hopefully leave the street life for good.

Now when I do strike it rich I’m gonna use half of that money to help the poor and working poor. I’ll just find people that need some support and I’ll help them move ahead. When they get strong enough then maybe they can help someone else and keep the ripple moving forward. It’s a pretty damn basic concept but in today’s world people act like helping others is more complicated than rocket science or donating their organs.

Now the fact that around 5% of the super rich own over ninety percent of all the money in the world really pisses me off. There are a lot of things on this planet that are wrong and most of what is wrong has to do with that nasty fact. Well the fact that they have most of the money and the power on this planet and also the fact that most of these people are crazy psychopaths that don’t give a shit about the planet or the other 95% of us good people. We all need to rise up and put most of the politicians and corporate business owners in Jail where they belong but don’t get me started as they say! A revolution is coming my brothers and sisters so just keep practicing the golden rule and wait until the timing is right and then we can take this planet back from those maniacs. God I hope that Karma is real....

Oooops! Sorry about that folks. Sometimes I get started on something and my brain won’t allow me to shut the hell up. I do hate how hard and painful life is for a lot of people down here, but like they say once the pendulum swings as far one way as it can, it has no choice but to go back the other way so things will all balance out in time, that’s just the basic nature of life, I think. Mind you, it might not happen by next Friday though so no breath holding.

Now if you want to know something deeply personal about me, well, one thing would be this: I am terribly in Love with a girl named Jasmine DesRoche. She's a few years older than me and she is fairly set-up in life already so I need to become rich so I will be able to give her the kind of life that a great girl like her deserves. That’s not really happening right now so I have a lot of work ahead of me if I'm gonna win her little heart. Don't get me wrong; I don't think she's materialistic but a girl like Jasmine deserves the best that life has to offer.

Jasmine DesRoche is around five foot five and she is a fairly petite woman with natural curly blonde hair that looks like spun gold with slices of fiery copper and brass mixed in. Her eyes are light teal green in color; they are the same color as the ocean fronts in Hawaii but much prettier. Her eyelashes are so long and thick they almost look fake but she never acts snotty or high maintenance. That’s ‘cause she is one of those humble girls that have no idea how beautiful they really are. You really might not be able to tell, but I am fairly smitten with that gal. Jasmine works as a nurse in a mental institute, and so far she has no idea how nuts I am about her. (Did I just say that a mental health nurse had no idea how nuts I was about her? Yeesh Me and my Silver Tounge!)

What I mean is that she has no idea how crazy I am, umm, she has no idea that I think fondly of her. Anyways I hope to change all of that one day soon. I hope, I hope…. I hope.

Now I'm also hoping that you won't judge me but I do sell a bit of smoke or Mary Jane if you like to call it that. I never sell or touch the hard drugs though cause they're just dangerous and stupid; but I really don't believe that there is anything wrong with a little Mary Jane every now and then. I personally think that not only should it be legal, but like my favorite comedian Bill Hicks used to say: It probably should be mandatory. Even President Barrack Obama was quoted saying that it was no worse than drinking which is a pretty brave thing to say for someone in his position. Heck, this old world needs to mellow out some anyways; I'm sure that everyone would agree with that. Yeah I suppose that there's always the whole healthy eating and meditation thing to chill a person out though and if that's your thing then have at it, but at least ask yourself this one question if you have a negative stance towards old Mary J.

If someone is fighting, loud and obnoxious are they drinking alcohol or smoking weed? Exactly! They are drinking and after over 3000 years of use no one has ever over dosed or died from Mary Jane, but you definitely can't say that about booze. Anyways, I can't stand preachers and here I am acting like one. Live and let live. Treat others the way you want to be treated and all of that jazz. They’re my life mottos. I guess I went on and on because of weed guilt.

Just for the record I didn’t always sell weed ‘cause I was never what you would call a lazy guy. I had over 50 different jobs during my life, but I guess I just get bored easily so I move on a lot. I always liked to have a lot of different ways to make money ‘cause it keeps my life interesting.

Now, a lot of folks say that I am really handsome ‘cause of my good looks, and the fact that I am Tall and dark. I don't think I'm too much of anything really; I’m just a hardworking stiff like everyone else around this stupid planet. I guess God decided that giving me a few pretty features might make up for my lack of brain matter. Why he doesn’t give all of us both is beyond my limited ability to figure out, but you would have to be God to understand God right?

Apparently a lot of women think that tall men are better looking than those really short kinda guys though. You know the kind of guys I mean don’t you? The ones that look like that actor Manny Kavito with the bald head, short arms and more body hair then the floor of a busy barber shop. I never fully understood why God made short men so hairy though. I guess the fact that all short men usually succeed in business balances it all out in the long run. I’m pretty sure that I would have an inferiority complex if I looked like Michel Jacksons chimp Bubbles but who knows right? The winters would be less troublesome I suppose.

Do you think I'm full of it? Just think of all the short men you know and I'm willing to bet that most of them are financially successful. It happens ‘cause short guys get teased a lot, picked on a lot and beat up a lot and that makes them cranky and extremely determined to succeed in something other than basketball or pole vaulting.

I am only six foot four, and that may be tall, but there is always someone else that is taller. I used to know this guy back in high school that was over seven feet tall. No Kidding. Most people laughed at him whenever he hit his head on the door jambs coming into class but not me though. I always wanted to laugh but he was an underdog just like I was and we underdogs need to support one another. The tall guys name was Billy Grimes I think but don’t quote me. Anyways, you didn't come here to hear about old tall Billy did ya? But man oh man was he ever tall! I haven't seen him since high school and I always wondered what became of him. He's probably a rich billionaire basket ball player by now. Either that or he's spending his days smoking crack and being depressed and lonely. I hope not though, but if he was on the crack I would certainly be hoping that he got himself into Cracks anonymous or some other support group for tall addicts. Maybe then he could meet a real tall crack head girl that would love