Every time my family makes special plans, they end up getting canceled due to some incidents. Every time that happens, my parents would tell us to look on the bright side and make the best of a bad situation. However, I never managed to do that until this spring.
On a sunny morning this April, my aunt Kate invited us to the annual outdoor spring celebration on her farm. Since my family hadn't done anything different for ages, the whole family was very excited and everyone tried their best to make sure everything went well as planned. In order to add more fun to this exciting trip, my little sister Alice and my little brother Bill even joined me in making an extra-special treat-cupcakes. Full of joy and expectation, we were ready to set off.
The picnic was supposed to last from twelve to three. There was not enough time left. After checking the car again and again, my parents loaded books, a picnic blanket, and a whole big pack of foods and drinks into the car. The moment of our departure finally came at 11 o'clock.
However, everything went wrong the instant we bravely drove off. First, we had to stop and wait for Bill to find his shoes. Next, as we were driving down the road, we had to go back to the house because my mom left her wallet behind. Then, about halfway to Aunt Kate's house, we had to drive far out of our way to find a place for Alice to use a bathroom.
After that, my parents decided it'd be quicker to take one little side country road as a shortcut (捷径). But the shortcut ended up turning into a long way! We drove forever on a winding road with wildflower fields spreading endlessly out on both sides and the deep green pine trees going on and on within our sight. I had no mood to appreciate all of those. Spotting hundreds of birds flying in the sky, I was seized by a growing sense of desperation, for I entirely had no idea when we could hit our destination.
注意：1. 续写词数应为150左右；2. 请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
However, we had to stop on the way, for we were trapped there.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________"Could we have a great time here?" I wondered.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Born into a medical family, Amar, a 15-year-old boy, was expected to be a doctor, but deep down in his heart, he was eager to take up writing as his future career. He was in a great dilemma whether to pursue his dream or live up to his parents’ expectation. until one day when his father gifted him a parrot.
The parrot had two hazy lines in her neck: black and red. Amar knew the hazy lines mark the stage of learning. “When there is a good teacher, how can his student be stupid” ,he used to believe. It was absolutely true.
Metto’s cage was yellow with a big door and a shiny silver rod (杆) running through the centre. Metto’s world was fantastic, surrounded by eight-foot white walls with some plum trees. And a lawn, with a palm tree in the middle, was dotted with multiple-color roses.
Back home from school every afternoon, Amar always slid the door of the cage up for Metto to set her free nearby the palm tree. Metto could set herself free because she learned how to slide up the door but she had never tried to do so. It was either love with Amar or, might be, she had never tasted the taste of a bigger world.
Amar always talked with Metto in Pashto (普什图语). Whenever Amar fished out peanuts from his pocket, Metto talked frequently “Toti choori khore” —parrot! Wanna eat choori. She had learned one more sentence after meeting with a friend belonging to jungle outside the white walls. She always said that at the end of meal “Da wakht bam teer she”—this shall to be passed, which Amar had never taught her.
Amar saw her friend coming daily and sitting in the plum tree nearby Metto’s cage. He let them and did nothing. “The new one can never succeed in winning her. After all, I feed her well. She will never leave me”, Amar murmured. But he didn’t know the new teacher had taught her something the old one hadn’t. It was the outer world with untouchable horizon.
注意：1. 续写词数应为 150个左右;
2. 请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
One day, on the way to feed her, Amar was shocked at what Metto was doing.
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His head hanging down; Amar came back home after long running.
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Thank You, Mr. Baumgartner
If I hadn’t been a failed violinist, I might never have become a writer.
When I was in fourth grade, the public school I attended had an orchestra (管弦乐) program. I signed up to learn the violin, along with my friend Irene Cervantes. We were both interested in the violin and the bright future of being in the orchestra. Every week, Irene and I walked together through our working-class neighborhood to our before-school music lessons, proudly holding our black violin cases.
Mr. Baumgartner, the orchestra teacher, was very strict. He emphasized that if anything happened to the instrument we played we’d be cut from the program because the school could not afford to replace it. We all understood.
I wasn’t very good at the violin. Then the scary thing happened: I was practicing at home when the bridge dropped off my violin and flew across the room, the strings collapsing (塌陷) before my eyes.
Terrified of Mr. Baumgartner’s reaction, and having no idea that this was a common violinist’s mistake, I tried to fix it. I slipped into the garage and secured the bridge back in place with an unfamiliar glue, making sure it would never, never, drop off again. I prayed that Mr. Baumgartner wouldn’t notice.
Of course, he did. Sadly, he patted me on the back and told me that maybe I could join the orchestra next year. When I cried, he suggested that I join a chorus (合唱团).
I did switch to the chorus, where I stayed. As luck would have it, the elementary school orchestra automatically fed into the junior high chorus — which performed with the All City Honor Orchestra on New Year’s Eve, where Irene Cervantes was now the first-chair violinist.
After the performance, my English teacher, who was the advisor for the school newspaper, asked if anyone was a member of the chorus and would be interested in writing an article for the school newspaper about the experience. Something inside me made me raise my hand. I loved reading, but the idea of writing anything had never occurred to me until then.
注意：
1. 续写词数应为150左右；
2. 请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
I wrote the article.
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I saw Irene Cervantes years later at a high school reunion.
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I’ll admit it. I can be a complainer. After all, there’s so much in this life to complain about: the dirty clothes that don’t make it into the basket, that annoying neighbor’s loud music, my husband’s shoes spread out at the front door, rainy days, traffic...
Complaining is a habit I cultivated since childhood, a skill I developed through the years. My parents didn’t seem to mind—they were great complainers, too—though I do recall some eye-rolling and long-drawn sighs from friends and schoolmates when I would voice my negative opinions. In fact, I can distinctly recall the exact moment when I first realized my complaining habit reached its expert level.
One day, as I reminded ray husband once again to remove his bills from the dining-room table, put his shoes away, and lower that bothersome radio, he put up his hand.“Stop! You’re your complaining. It’s driving me crazy.”
I looked at him blank-eyed.
He took a deep breath. “You never hear me complaining, do you?”
“Well,” I answered, “you’re complaining about my complaining, so actually, yes, I am hearing you complain right now.”
His eyes widened. A drop of sweat formed his upper lip. Then he grabbed his car keys and ran out of the door.
Perhaps I’d gone too far, I thought. Maybe I really did complain too much. But, what to do about it? After all, it had been a lifetime habit. And habits are hard to break.
I took a break and sat down to think about solution. When I felt annoyed, I could lock myself in the bathroom and scream. No. The neighbors would probably hear me. Phone a friend? She probably wouldn’t be a friend for very long. Then it hit me.
I’d been in the habit of keeping a journal for most of my life. It provided a sort of timeline for me，and I liked to review past entries occasionally to review the path I had been on at that point. Journaling kept me honest with myself, and I liked it for that reason. Perhaps, I though, a complaint journal might be the answer I was seeking.
注意：
1. 续写词数应为l50左右；
2. 请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答；
That day, I decided to give it a try.
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Besides the improved relationship with my husband, I saw other effects soon. .
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The year 2013 marked a turning point in my life. In June, my husband was offered a new Job in Ghana. Feeling that I had hit a career bottleneck as a photographer and copywriter (广告文字撰写人), I, without any hesitation, made the decision to relocate with him.
While my husband engaged in work, my visa didn’t grant me the same privilege. But that’s okay. I didn’t know what to do anyway. I was left isolated, homesick and lacking purpose. Our new home was a bungalow near a river that cut across expansive grasslands. With few people around our home, I turned to nature, which had been a fondness of mine since childhood. Every day, I would take my camera and wander around, photographing aimlessly.
It wasn’t long before September arrived, bringing the full flow of the rainy season. After one particularly bad thunderstorm, I found a finch (雀) — a poor little thing barely a month old with one wing broken — on the ground. Evidently, he had been abandoned by his flock, his nest blown from a tree. The sight was heartbreaking. He was the size of my lite finger. His eyes were tightly shut and he was shuddering, too young to survive alone. I somehow felt a connection with it. Immediately I scooped him up and cautiously placed him in a cardboard box with towels, mimicking a nest, and stayed up all night researching how to care for him.
The next day, he seemed to regain some energy. He woke with his mouth open, though still too weak to let out a call. I fed him some food and chirped (叽喳) at him. To my amusement, he chirped back and even climbed into my hand. I affectionately gazed at this adorable creature, who was now boldly pecking (啄) my fingers now and then. A surge of warmth ran through me. Tenderly stroking his feathers, I chirped a lullaby, singing him to sleep. Gradually, his eyes drooped and he drifted off. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene — as far as he was concerned, I was his mother.
Para 1. “I will take care of you.” I murmured, making my promise to him.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Para 2. At that moment I realized that as I dedicated myself to the finch’s care, something within me changed.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________My Big Solo (独唱)
The day had finally arrived: the day of my big solo. Everyone was there; my mom and dad and my little brother. And it was a big event: the Spring Fling Choir Concert. The whole class was dressed up. My name was on the cover of the program in bright yellow characters. I couldn’t believe it when I saw my name. Not that it was my name, but that it wasn’t Renee’s. Renee and I had been classmates since kindergarten. She was always ahead of me. Dance class needs a big finish? Renee was picked. The school plays? Renee would have the leads while I was cast as her mother or sister or neighbor. I even played her dog once. The only time I ever came in ahead of Renee was at roll call (点名). Cindy comes before Renee. I count that as a victory!
The choir concert tryouts were stressful. We waited in the library as Ms. Jenkins called us individually into the choir room. By the time she called me, I was shaking. When I came back to the library, Renee smiled at me. Ms. Jenkins called her name and Renee calmly followed her. She was still calm and smiling when her tryout was over
When Ms. Jenkins announced who had made the special choral group (合唱队), I wasn’t surprised when Renee’s name was on her list and mine wasn’t. “So, what else is new?” I said under my breath Sudden clapping brought me out of my bad mood. Everyone was looking at me. I’ve missed something here, I thought. Ms. Jenkins smiled at me and said, “Cindy, you will have to start practicing with me.The solos take extra preparation.” Solo? I got the solo? I glanced over at Renee. She smiled broadly and gave me the thumbs-up sign. Oh, that’s another thing. She is always so nice
Now the day had come. We filed onto the stage and took our places. I was front and center. Ms. Jenkins raised her baton (指挥棒) and we began to sing. My parents were smiling at me, cameras flashing.
注意：
1.续写词数应为150左右；
2.请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
My big moment came.
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The rest of the solo went well.
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Moving In
My eighty-five-year-old mother offered that familiar tilt (歪头) of the head, the one that told me something was up. I tensed my shoulders and bit my lip, waiting for whatever was coming next.
I could handle it. She was predictable, though dramatic. I expected her to express her thoughts on the latest news or share the senior community news.
Instead, she calmly said, as though she were sharing her dinner menu, “I’m going to downsize and sell my house and nearly everything I own.” The breaking news was followed by a matter of fact stare.
“Do what?” I asked. “I’ll be a floater,” she said.
“I’ll stay with you, then with my brothers in Maine, and then with some of my friends. I’ll just float around and enjoy myself.” She laughed as though she’d just discovered the perfect lifestyle. “I’ll take my cat everywhere with me. I can’t bear to leave him behind or give him away. What do you think?”
“No one will want you to show up with your cat.” My answer seemed a shock to her. After only seconds, she added, “Well, I just won’t tell them he’s coming. We’ll just show up. What can they do?”
Shocked, I took a deep breath and forced myself to respond by explaining all the reasons why selling, moving in with me, and fearlessly dragging the cat across the country in secret were terrible ideas.
Unbothered, she simply said, “You’re so dramatic. It’ll be fine.”
I didn’t take her announcement seriously. A few days after her announcement,my brother and I enjoyed a few laughs over her idea. After all, our mother was too independent to be placed in a place long-term with any of her children. She had made this clear on many occasions when I’d begged to live next door to her. I’d wanted to be close enough to watch over her but not too close, but she’d always refused.
I enjoyed living alone, hearing the quiet, writing and reading. I hated noise. My mother loved radio, television, and phone calls, endless phone calls. We would not make good housemates.
注意：
1.续写词数应为150左右；
2.请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
I really panicked when she started having yard sales.
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I took her to my home from the hospital happily, no longer bothered by her moving in.
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One New Year’s morning, as we came down to breakfast, with very shiny faces and spendy aprons(围裙), we surprisingly found father alone in the dining room.
“Happy New Year. Papa! Where is Mother?” we cried.
“A little boy came begging and said they were starving at home. so your mother went to see and ah, here she is.”
As Papa spoke, in came Mamma, looking very cold, rather sad, and very much excited. Not far away from here, lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby. Six children are hud-dled(挤在一起)into one bed to keep from freezing for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy came here to tell me they were starving on this bitterly cold day. “My little girls, will you givc them your breakfast, as a New Year’s gift?”
We sat silent a minute and looked at the nice, hot porridge(粥), creamy milk, and good bread and butter; for we were brought up like English children, and never drank tea or coffee, or ate anything but porridge for our breakfast.
“I wish we’d eaten it up,” thought I for I was rather a selfish child, and very hungry.
“May I go and help carry it to the poor, little children?” asked Beth, who had the tende-rest heart that ever beat under a spendy apron.
“1 can carry that little pot,” said little May, proudly giving the thing she loved best.
“And I shall take all the porridge,” I burst in, heartily ashamed of my first feeling.
“You shall put on your things and help me, and when we come back, we’ll get something to eat,” said Mother, beginning to pile the bread and butter into a big basket.
注意：
1．续写词数应为150左右;
2．请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
We were soon ready and set out.
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As we made our way back home, I felt a sense of warmth in my heart.
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I first became conscious of my body image last year in fifth grade. One day I was walking by my mirror getting ready for bed and I noticed that my stomach looked big. I started to really hate that and think I was fat even though my family always told me how skinny I was. It wasn’t only my stomach—I started to think my nose was ugly and that my laugh was disgusting. I was even afraid to laugh or smile in public.
Then, in the sixth grade, a popular guy in my class named Luke made it worse. He told his table group that my body looked swollen in skinny jeans. I heard about it from someone else, but then Luke even told me to my face! I couldn’t stop thinking about what Luke had said. Even worse, I started to believe it was true, and I hid my skinny jeans all the way at the bottom of my drawer.
I know I cared too much about what other people said and thought about me. I guess I just wanted to be liked. In fact, I really wish I could have just brushed off comments like that, but I couldn’t change my personality and what I care about that easily.
Luke’s mean comment affected me in a big way. I lost confidence in more than just my body—I started to think that I didn’t matter and that I didn’t have a place in the world. To make it worse, some people also started telling me that I was not meant to be an author, which is what I really want to be. That especially hurt and I started to feel really sad all the time.
I hadn’t really told anyone how I’d been feeling until a couple of months ago when I got a call from my cousin. I’m really close to her, and hearing her voice and laugh made me feel so good inside. I thought about how I used to be that way too, and how I was so sick of feeling sad.
注意：
1.所续写短文的词数应为150左右；
2.请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
Then I started telling her and it all came out.
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When I went back to my bedroom, I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time.
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I moved to a new place. After the first day at my new school, I walked home alone. Mom told me she had to work. I was still hoping she’d meet me after the bell.
I opened the door. I was hungry. I wandered into the kitchen, tearing tape from the packed boxes while I searched for a clean plate. My fingers slipped, and something went crashing to the ground.
“Benjamin!” cried Mom from the doorway. I didn’t hear her come in. “What just broke?” she asked, bending to pick up the shards (碎片). In her hands, I recognized the pieces. It was Grandma’s bowl, the one Mom put out for special occasions.
“Why couldn’t you have waited for me to unpack? I couldn’t believe you broke this,” she said.
Words burst from my mouth and spilled across the room. “Well, I can’t believe we have to live here now! I can’t believe I have to switch schools when there are only a few weeks left before summer!” I ran into my room, shutting the door behind me violently.
The broom (扫帚) swept across the kitchen floor. Then the click of Mom’s bedroom door closed behind her. I stole out into the kitchen and picked out the shards in the dustbin. There were so many pieces in here, but maybe I could put them back together.
“I’ m sorry I yelled,” said Mom, as she opened her door. “Please just throw out the pieces. We can’t make a fresh start with broken things.”
As I wandered down the hall, Mr. Sato, my neighbor, was emptying his garbage.
“Are you sure you want to throw that out?” he asked, gesturing towards the bowl.
“It’s broken,” I whispered. “This is all my fault.”
“Things break, Benjamin. That isn’t anyone’s fault. Besides, this is a simple repair. Come. I’ll show you.” Taking a thin knife, Mr. Sato started to repair the bowl. After a long time, Mr. Sato said to me, “This needs to dry. Come back on Saturday, and we will finish it.”
注意：1.续写词数应为150左右；
2.请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
Saturday morning, I stole out early and knocked on the Satos’ door.
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I was a little nervous to show Mom the bowl, but that night I brought it into her room.
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