Date: Tue, 8 May 2007 13:45:36 -0700 (PDT)
From: Vincent V <french_kisses46@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Momentum of Oppertunity /Chapter 1

			The Momentum of Opportunity

				Chapter one


        The bamboo stock, how interesting of a plant it is. Out of all the
household plants it surpasses the rest as a symbol of "survival of the
fittest." It manages to maintain its structure without any nature, care, or
even the slightest guidance of a green thumb. Sometimes it is even
difficult to realize that it is in fact a living organism. You simply add
enough water for its roots to soak. Just with that, it can survive for
months, maintaining its vitality and dexterity while still never failing to
entertain. Sometimes it is even bounded together with other bamboo stocks,
strapped and forced to stay low, to stay pretty. Perhaps this is why it
maintains its height and seldom does it grow leaps and bounds.  Now
wouldn't this make one wonder? What if we were to give this plant a proper
pot with proper soil just like the rest? If life can be maintained or even
flourish under the weight of suppression, then what feat would it reach if
it were to be presented with the luxury of opportunity?



        The train rolls along the French countryside, speeding through the
brisk November air, stretching across the rich fields of wheat and corn
rolling and swaying towards the sleeping horizon. Though it is the
southwestern region or France, the winter has already hinted its arrival.
The locomotive submerges underneath the hills and floats to the top of the
bridges, like a submarine, losing control of her pressure. Shifting and
turning through the winding tracks, gliding absent of direction but perhaps
full of purpose. The sound of the rhythmic beating from the engine hitting
each individual crossbar blurs into his conscience. The loud clashing
bombards heavily through the thin little blue earmuffs and snaps at his
thoughts. Lately, his thoughts have not been in much order anyway, perhaps
it was best to let them sink along with this colossal iron submarine.

"Ocean say something, don't do this, don't clam up to me, I'm your mother
for god's sake."

His head pressed against the glass window, gazing into the fields of wheat
and the specs of crows fluttering above the crooked wooden fences.

 "I hate Trains."

She lets out a deep sigh and pinches her temples.

"Now, you know it isn't my fault, we had no choice, sometimes you need to
put yourself in my position for a bit, and you know this is not what I
want. But this is for the best mon cherri."

Her voice pleads to be convincing but against walls of lies they prove to
be useless.

"Ocean, look at me, look at your mother when she's talking to
you...Please."

Reluctantly he lifts his head just enough to turn towards her, his cheek
leaves an imprint on the glass. Blending with the grey clouds that blanket
the sky and denying the sun from lifting the day's darkest souls. His
mothers face would've been invisible in the clouds, her blood seemed to
have been drained and her eyes sinks into their sockets, it took effort to
search for them. The wrinkles she wore across her cheeks pinches the
corners of her eyes, folding around the outlines of her mouth where dimples
once made a home. Now they merely draw a timeline of all the battles she
had fought, some victorious, many a failure.

"I am trying Ocean, I am trying. But I need your help. France is my home,
but we have nothing left here.  Friends come and go; anyways you will find
more friends in America. I work very hard for us, you need to start
appreciating and start losing your selfish attitude. I'm doing this for
you, without you I would not be in this situation."

She tries to convince herself as her voice quickly grew stern in hopes of
grasping the smallest piece of confidence and reassurance.

"It's not about how many friends you have." His voice solid a dry.

"You're 16 now, start acting like it. It's bad enough that you choose to fail
in school--"

"I didn't fail."

"Fine, you barley passed, but that's not enough to do anything in life, at
least not in this life." Her voice grew colder and sharp as her breathing
slowed.

"If you didn't do it, I'd still be with your father and... we'd still be a
family."  She leans back and stares into the dead sky, captured in some
distant memory.

Releasing the tension in voice with a sigh she stares at her son.  "But
what's done is done right?"

"Yes, mother, it's my fault."

His cheeks resume their position on the window as the glass quickly fogs
up.  He winces as he pushes the anger as deep as he could, shoving them
pass the lump in his throat as the urge to scream becomes far too familiar.
Pushing his forehead into the glass he tries to close his eyes and
disappear, hoping to sink into the hills and praying to fade away as he
listens to the sound of the beating tracks, now providing comfort as they
mute his silent screams.


Chapter Two