近期，高中英文教学组举办的“我的微型回忆录”写作大赛，为师生们精心策划了一场别开生面的写作盛宴。参赛者以寥寥百字为限，勾勒出生活中真实而动人的片段。活动反响热烈，各年级学生和教职工踊跃参与，提交了数百篇回忆录，内容丰富多彩，既有童年宠物的温馨陪伴、珍贵时刻的永恒定格、假期时光的欢声笑语，也不乏尴尬记忆的会心一笑、科技隐患的深刻反思以及困境中的柳暗花明。每一篇回忆录都是生活的生动剪影，也展现了作者的独特个性。在为期两个月的活动中，学生们不断打磨作品，最终每个年级组和教职工团队各评选出优秀作品。这场活动不仅点燃了师生们的创作热情，更让大家在简洁而有力的文字中，领略了叙事艺术的无穷魅力。
九年级优秀作品
Which World Am I In?
刘亨利
Morning alarm… waking before computer… neck cramped…keyboard print on my face. Buzz! updated game.
Breakfast, edge a glob into my mouth, not caring what is on my plate. Buzz! a new video.
With my backpack, out the door, eyes glued to phone and asphalt street. Buzz! a text from friend.
Walking to school, noticing the up-hanging sun by checking downward-to phone weather forecast. Buzz! selfies of crush.
To school, I panic, to find, to see, the finals is today.
To my horror, do I scramble away. I look for “pause”, or “restart”, or “home”. But. There is none.
Torii wandering
刘慧雯
All way up to the end of road it was like a long tunnel of light, leading from mortal to deities.
It was the Fushimi Inari Shrine. In the long-passed tales, Inari was who caring for human lives.
Walking along the Torii Residence, surrounded by forests, it was varying greens that fills the surrounding. With birds singing, leaves rustling, cicadas chirping, it was the final song of summer.
So bless me Inari, by building myself a torii in my heart, for that everything wins.
Morning Training
刘欣瑶
I sighed. Morning training. Plucking you out of warm dreams at 6 a.m. in October.
Sleep-deprived, pressure-driven, and energy-sapped, staggering onto the field took
sheer force of will.
Yet as I began running, summer’s last wisps of breath curled around me like a familiar,
welcoming friend, while the early sun spilled onto me like an effervescently golden potion.
Gradually, my hair billowed out from its careless knot, lips parted to inhale the crisp morning
air, feet slid into perfect position against the track.
And gradually, my heart crashed against my chest, exploding in a cascade of golden,
Dopamine-filled fireworks.
十年级优秀作品
Forgetting the Forgetting
马瀚明
“Steamed bok-choy, dried pickled mustards” Those are the dishes that tremble softly out
my mouth.
My waipo lies unmoving in our dim apartment. Her eyes glazed over as she stares thoughtlessly at us. Her family.
Her gaunt body lies still, interrupted by grunts that leak out of her mouth. Desperate, I plead the name of foods she loved, praying for a glimmer of recognition in those vacant eyes to cling onto.
It never comes.
Instead, my words disappear as she watches my lips tremor with motionless empty eyes.
This is the only clear memory I have left of her.
ROSES
池羽洁
We visited Great Grandma every year.
I wanted to buy her roses, but Mom picked a delicate gold necklace instead – and I gave it to Great Grandma. She laughed heartily as she handed me a red envelope stuffed with money, her rough yet warm hands caressing my cheeks softly. They somehow felt like silk.
I got to give her two golden necklaces.
The third year Mom didn’t ask me which necklace I thought Great Grandma would like. She headed into the flower shop and asked which bouquet of white roses I liked the most.
We visit Great Grandma every year.
Bloom and doom
梁歆然
In spring, I bought a bag of sunflower seeds and planted them in my backyard. Under my meticulous care, vibrant leaves pushed through the soil, reaching for sunlight. I relished sitting in the yard, watching them sway in the breeze.
But one day, I was terrified to see my baby sunflowers gnawed by insects seriously. The myriad holes in their leaves are like mouths with fierce teeth, pleading for help. Feeling defeated, I no longer gave the flowers as much care as before.
In autumn, a typhoon swept through, uprooting what remained. Then, I refilled the space with grown sunflowers.
十一和十二年级优秀作品
Chinese nonsense
楼兰
The Spaniard showed me his fan. I squinted.
“How do you say that in Chinese?” The fan was made of cheap plastic----the kind we give out in supermarkets. Yet he was holding it as though it was the jewel of the Spanish crown.
“Uh----“ I concentrated on the tiny Chinese characters. “Wang Chuqin?”
“Ahhhhhh~” The old man beamed, satisfied. “One, two, three?”
Months later, I sat watching Wang Chuqin secure another gold for Chinese ping-pong. Across the continent, a Spanish old man would be cheering, in perfect Chinese nonsense: “That’s One Two Three. I’m his fan!”
Sanxin North Road
吴佳凝
Soaked, from head to toe. My shoes were wet pudding. Glasses? Massacred by raindrops. The rain pelted me like needles.
I cursed the loathsome creature that had stolen my umbrella as I ran across the street. I didn’t even notice the red traffic light –– until a car skidded to a stop right in front of me, coating me with a fresh layer of mud-water.
Windows were rolled down. “Watch where you’re going, girl!”
Before I could respond, a hand held out an umbrella. I hesitated, then grabbed it. “Young people these days,” I heard him mutter as he drove off.
My Condolences
许若妍
Even though two months have passed, my thoughts are still in that ethereal and pure mourning hall, filled with tears and sorrow. That was a funeral in August, the first funeral I attended in my sixteen years of life. The one lied peacefully in the coffin is my lover, who will selflessly dedicate all his love to me. I inherited the university he wanted to go to, which became my goal. Whenever I feel like giving up, I think of this goal and make up my mind to live a good life. Death is not the end of life.
