Blades of American Beauty

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 8 (v.1) - Mode of Transportation

Submitted: July 26, 2017

Reads: 75

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Submitted: July 26, 2017

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Still thinking about my parents, I was in the training hall untransformed and practicing with the Jaakuna Hakai no Ken in my hands. I was slashing with my blade uncontrollably, wanting revenge against Emily Barryway, and the three DHS soldiers who took my parents away over our Conservative beliefs, which was none of their business to begin with. In the midst of the fight, I had a vision my parents were complaining about the food and labor, but they were tazed by the soldiers every time they fussed. Realizing how severe the situation was for the United States, I imagined that I saw Major James Ingram, and I mortally wounded him in return. But as I was about make the final strike with my sword, the Dojo Monitor Alarm sounded, snapping me out of my imagination. After I got a sense of my surroundings, I said, “The DHS is attacking again!”

I got out of the training hall, and reported to the gathering room, where my Grandparents were watching the television. “Hey, Grandma, Grandpa, the alarm sounded!” “Indeed, great Warrior, we are aware,” said Grandpa. “Observe the news report, Minako,” said Grandma.

Sitting down at the table, I turned my head to the television screen, where a breaking news report began to be reported on. The newscaster started, “We are following breaking news that President Emily Barryway has opened a probe investigation which will take place at a local high school, effective immediately. You’re looking at a live, aerial shot of Grand Memorial High School, where government officials will be present to observe alleged student delinquency in class times.” I was shocked. “That’s my Alma Mater,” I said as I continued listening to the news report. “According to a Government spokesperson, the students have been walking out of class in protest against required teachings of the tolerance of Islamic faith. The parents of these students, who have been threatened with prosecution for the students’ truancies, have resorted to sending their children to school with Bibles to counter the lessons. However, a White House Official tells us that President Barryway intends to take whatever affirmative action is necessary to restore stability and order in the school within the next few hours.”

Grandpa was concerned about this. “It seems the Government is preparing to attack innocent children for standing up for Christianity…how ironic that they believe in Separation of Church and State, but they want to force people to tolerate a religion of ‘peace’ that encourages the slaughter of dissidents…it is most barbaric,” he said. Then I said, “This is very low, especially to attack the high school I graduated from in 2011!” My emotions were becoming unstable through my anger. “Minako, you must remain calm,” ordered Grandma. “Your grandmother is right,” added Grandpa. “I am sending you to the high school to watch over the students and make sure that the DHS trio does not slaughter those students.” “Not a problem,” I replied. “Very well, then,” said Grandpa. “We must teleport to the school at once, but do not transform unless I otherwise tell you so.” “Understood, Grandpa,” I replied. “Very well, then,” replied Grandma. But then I asked, “How are we going to get to the school if the teleportation system only warps me back to my house? After all, if I warp back there and travel to the school on my own with a sword in my possession, I’ll get caught, especially if there are police near my home.”

Grandpa paused for a moment, and then he said, “I have never set up any other teleportation points other than the one near your house, so that is a discerning issue.” Then I said, “You guys don’t even have the money to buy a car, so how are we going to do this?” “Wait a minute,” Grandpa said. “Minako, didn’t your parents buy a brand-new Mitsubishi SUV not long ago?” “Yes, they did,” I replied. “Do they drive it for their daily commutes to work?” “No,” I said. “They had it for a year, and they barely drove it; they only pilot their fancy sports cars because--” “Perfect,” interrupted Grandpa. “We might be able to put that SUV to good use as our mode of transportation whenever necessary!” “We’re going to drive their SUV?” I asked. “In this situation, when the fate of America is at stake, there are no other options,” said Grandma. “Let’s prepare to teleport,” boomed Grandpa.

We stepped into the hologram and warped back to my home. But when we arrived, Grandma held me down and yelled out, “Stay down, Minako!” I had no idea what’s happening, but when I perched my head up, I saw two police officers patrolling near my house. They were gathering forensic information on the battle I had with Ensign Percy Klein last night, as well as gathering forensic data from his blood drops. Grandpa did not like the situation. “Those bastards really picked the worst probable time to show up. If we don’t distract those cops, we won’t be able to get the car…”

At that moment, one of the cops looked over where we were standing. We ducked our heads even further, but it didn’t stop the officer from staring for a long period of time, until he decided to walk up to us. “Oh great, he’s approaching us,” I whispered franticly. “What are we going to do?” But almost before he could find us, his partner yelled, “BEN! Get back to work! Quit loafing around!” “On my way, Bill!” replied Ben. The officers continued gathering their evidence, but we were still feeling cramped and uneasy having to hide ourselves when the students of Grand Memorial High were in potential danger. I could not escape the feeling that the DHS trio was preparing to open fire on innocent children. Then, Bill suggested, “We need to go get some lunch.” “Perfect timing,” replied Ben. The two officers sealed away their evidence materials and departed the scene. “Now’s our chance,” said Grandpa. “Into the house, now!”

With the house keys in my hand, I opened the door and went looking for my parents’ car keys. But the keys were nowhere in sight! Mom and Dad were likely on their way to work when those DHS goons took them away, I thought. I rushed into their bedroom, and found a valet key in their closet. I attached it to my key ring and said, “I found the keys, Grandpa!” “Excellent work, Minako,” replied Grandpa. We hurried back to the garage and unlocked my parents’ Mitsubishi. As we entered the vehicle, Grandma used her quick calligraphy skills to draw the kanji for Samurai onto a magnet, which she placed on the hood. “With this magnetic decal, your parents’ mode of transportation will be our SUV we can use to transport to and from the Dojo.” “Our time for loafing has ended; we must get to Grand Memorial High School immediately,” remarked Grandpa as we fastened our seatbelts. With one foot on the brake pedal, he pressed the ignition button, and the engine started with a motorcycle-like hum, resonating from the robust turbo-charged engine through the crisp transmission. Then, we steered out of the neighborhood onto Beltway 8.

Grandpa continued to accelerate through the belt, where the citizens were traversing through a calm, but vastly fast-pace environment. “I see an accident ahead,” Grandpa warned. “Hang on, I’m going to rip through this wreck.” At that point, Grandpa began to abruptly veer out of his lane to the right so he could avoid hitting a vehicle that had rear-ended another vehicle in front of them, and then merged back into his lane. “Just warn us before you make an abrupt maneuver like that again, Takeru!” “Right,” replied Grandpa. “This isn’t your vehicle, you know! Be more careful,” I warned crossly. Then he said, “Never mind that; the obstacle has been cleared, but which way to Grand Memorial High School?” I said, “Go west on the belt to Highway 249. Then head north until we reach Hidari Avenue. Then head west until we see the school.”

Grandpa continued driving as I directed, but as we were driving, we saw signs for the Sam Houston Tollway, which would begin in less than two miles. “Does anybody have any cash for the toll?” he asked. “Take two dollars; they’ll give you a quarter back at the booth,” replied Grandma, handing her money. “Not so fast,” I warned while looking forward. “Look at the sign!” Apparently, my grandparents failed to realize until too late that there was a big purple and yellow sign that said, “TOLL TAG ONLY – NO CASH, NO PAY-BY-MAIL, VIOLATORS PROSECUTED.” You see, in Houston, the toll roads used to have cash booths when I was younger, but our local toll road authority was so pushy for cashless tolling that they tore down all the cash booths and installed electronic tag readers. Thus, the residents of Houston were required to purchase a micro-chipped toll sticker in order to legally cross the toll road without dealing with expensive penalties. “Damn!” Grandpa yelled when he realized his mistake. “Hold on, I’m going to attempt a kamikaze to avoid the toll!” I said, “What are you planning to do?”

Almost before it was too late, Grandpa saw an entrance ramp, and steered into the highway shoulder. Then, he veered into the oncoming traffic of the ramp to get off the Sam Houston Tollway, and turned around on the frontage road to go forward. Grandpa and I were yelling our minds off. “Can’t we get pulled over or arrested for that, Grandpa?” I asked. “Worry not, everyone,” said Grandpa. “I’m going to take this as far as I can go and do the same thing again to get back on Sam Houston from an exit ramp. Then, we’ll reach 249!” But as we were continuing, two police cars began flashing their lights. “Oh no, we’re in trouble,” I remarked. Grandpa pulled over into the side of the road and waited for the police, but the cops didn’t stop. “It seems those police were not after us,” he said. “Perhaps, it would be best that you must not attempt another kamikaze move again at this time. Let us continue to Grand Memorial High School,” warned Grandma as Grandpa continued driving the SUV through the surrounding valleys of Beltway 8 overshadowed by office buildings.


© Copyright 2019 Andrew Maxfield. All rights reserved.

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