更新時間：2024-05-23 21:11:34作者：貝語網校
高考英語作文 禮物為話題的高中作文English composition
以下是翻譯的英文版本內容：
High school essay 1 on the topic of gifts
Liu Ziyue, Class 11, Grade One
I've rarely seen her look at something like that. What surprised me more was that it was just an ordinary style decoration. There was a small hole in the trunk of a tree, and inside the hole were three fluffy felt squirrels. Cute, yes, but not in this fancy gift shop's dazzling display. Although every gift on the shelf was a sky-high price for my young self - including this display - it seemed to be just as cheap.
Suddenly, she asked me. "Yueyue, shall we make up stories? Just watch this toy." I agreed without thinking, making up stories is one of my favorite childhood games. The story I made up was very simple, nothing more than what every happy child thinks, a family of three living happily together. But she made up a very strange story, the squirrel family because of the disagreement, the squirrel mother wants to go to the west mountain to live, the squirrel father wants to go to the East mountain to live. But the little squirrel didn't want to be separated from his mother and father. He wanted the whole family of squirrels to stay in the hole. So father squirrel and mother squirrel said to him, you be good and we will live here. If you don't behave, we'll part ways. So the little squirrel every day obediently, a family of three live in this tree hole. I was full of doubts about the story, but I didn't think it had any particular moral. All I saw was that she liked it. After all, her family was very rich and she was very intelligent, and I couldn't understand why she looked a little depressed.
With her birthday coming up in a month, I spent almost all of my lucky money and asked my mother for two months 'pocket money before I could buy this decoration. I know she likes it, and I'll try to give it to her.
There were a lot of people at her birthday party. Her house was huge, with a bright crystal chandelier hanging in the living room, pictures hanging on the walls, and a glass cabinet like a shop window on one side of the living room full of wine with fancy foreign languages written on it. Somewhat to my amusement, her mother accidentally rubbed salad dressing on her father's shirt as she was bringing it out. The aunt quickly put the salad down, saying "I'm sorry" repeatedly, while rubbing the salad dressing for uncle; My uncle, on the other hand, tried to stop my aunt from rubbing the salad dressing and kept saying, "It's okay." The two of them almost bowed to each other. I gently pulled her, "Your parents seem to be acting oh." Her eyes drooped. "They're just acting." Then she seemed to realize that she had said too much, and wanted to pull me to play something else. I dug through the mountain of gifts on the coffee table and showed her the one I had given. Her eyes reddened and she turned back to set up my gift for her.
She told me that she hadn't seen what the presents were, but she knew that what I had given her must be her favorite gift.
When the summer vacation was over and the new semester began, she told me that her parents had divorced.
High school essay 2 on the topic of gifts
11 class directors from Grade One
It was dark in the middle of the night, and the roar of the truck woke me up without sleeping. I lit the damp candle by the bed, which flickered and crackled with a noise not even as bright as the moon through the window.
A brother next to me who didn't sleep pushed me. "Zhou Guangming, look over there, another group of new recruits... We're in for another big fight." I lifted my eyelids and glanced, and by the light of the candle continued to wipe my broken gun. I was very well informed and caught wind of it early on.
I swear my name is not Zhou Guangming, really. My name is Zhou Ye, Ye means light. I had just joined the army, less than twenty, the group of veterans asked my name, I explained to them - the result got "Zhou Guangming" name. At first, I also argued meagre, and later, after ten and a hundred and a hundred, I was tired of talking, and simply let them call me to go.
The noise of the truck stopped. I fitted the gun skillfully in the candlelight and moonlight, and examined it for a while: it was badly worn, but fortunately well maintained. I blew out the candle and put my gun and candle on the bed like a treasure, no longer paying attention to the movement of the recruits, and sank into sleep under the moonlight.
For several days, apart from the usual queue of unfamiliar faces, most of the people I passed were people I knew. This gave me great satisfaction: I did not want to know the recruits.
The sun set in the west, and the burning rosy clouds heralded the coming of twilight. A burst of intense gunfire broke out, abruptly breaking the quiet night - a few enemy scouts crept up. They were found early, but we're still dead.
I was sent to watch the new recruits bury - the new recruits were assigned a few health workers to bury people, this is their first lesson in the army. I don't have to do it, but I don't think anyone wants to look at it.
I looked around casually, my eyes fixed on a recruit about my age. He moved slowly, but it didn't look like he couldn't move, it looked like he was doing it on purpose. I rushed up with some inexplicable anger, took two steps at the same time, and threw my body down the pit. He looked up at me with a questioning, resentful look in his eyes. He didn't say anything after all, but it seemed like I was the one doing the wrong thing.
"I hear they call you little Master?"
"Well, my family is a Buddhist, so I know a little bit about it." He sat on his knees by the grave, mumbling something. I didn't want to know his name. He didn't say, and I didn't ask.
"After a big battle, you can't bury it in days like this."
"I just don't want to be thrown into a pit like this when I die. They have suffered enough. The dead cannot ask for help, but the living must think of them." After a while, he suddenly said, "Do you think they are worth it?"
"What is it worth, wrapping the body, it is the world's pride also -" I want to get up, he grabbed my coat corner, strength is not small, almost did not give me to pull down. "Don't talk to me like a bureaucrat."
I looked into his clear eyes and was silent for a long time, unable to say anything. To preserve the dignity of an old soldier, I stood up and brushed my clothes and said, "I've seen more dead people than you've seen living ones. It's a long time. Think about it..." My voice faded away in the breeze.
In the middle of the night I could not sleep again, lying in bed tossing and turning - his questions kept me awake. How do I know someone like that? Fellow countryman, fellow countryman, I comforted myself.
After a while, I felt someone filming me. I turned over and saw those clear eyes again, like a clear spring that had not been contaminated by dirt.
"Brother Light, come out, I have a gift for you." I didn't care where he got the name and followed him up the hill.
He shoved a Buddha card into my hand. "Safe." It glowed golden in the moonlight, and was a curiosity in the camp. But then he came to me with this thing, as if he knew something to say goodbye to me in advance.
"Thank you," I smiled casually, looking at the Buddha, "but if this thing really can keep me safe, I will go to battle tomorrow without a gun."
There was some surprise in his eyes, and I knew that I had misspoken, and that my mouth was slurring as if I were trying to conceal it.
"Let me tell you about my time in the army." After a while, I spoke.
"I was brought in on a truck just like you. Sending people into battle for no reason. The bullet flew past me, and then there was a thud, the sound of someone falling to the ground. The battle went on for so long that I could hardly tell the smell of blood from smoke."
"Then I was given the job of burying people. It's weird. I've been in the army for years, and it's haunting me. I was looking at a face I knew so well. And guess what? That's the guy sitting across from me in the truck. He was a sub-shooter, right next to me, and he got shot. It was too painful to bury someone I knew, and I never met anyone new after that. After all these years, you're the only recruit I know."
"I haven't won this battle since I joined the army. When you fight, you lose. When you lose, you retreat. I've lost count of the fields I've let out from under my feet for so many years now, and the waves of recruits I've sent up -- so I'm sorry I hit too hard today."
We both didn't know what to say again, and there was a long silence. Fortunately, the calm before the storm gave us plenty of time.
"Do you clean guns?" 'he asked me suddenly.
"Of course," I gave him a puzzled look, "when the chamber is exploded in the battlefield, you are finished."
"So there is no one in the world who doesn't want to live, you and I alike. It's just that you've seen so many dead people that you've lost your respect for life."
There was another silence.
So much time went by, and I had to say, "Little Master, tomorrow... Save a few more." He nodded. We did not wait until dawn, so we went back.
A cannon blast in the early morning knocked open the door to a brutal war.
I still carry the broken gun through the gunfire, still familiar sound and smell. Suddenly there was a strong, pungent smell, and then an unusually sharp scream. Then I heard someone behind me shout, "Gas! Wear a mask!"
I saw that little Master was carrying a wounded man running, wearing a mask, and I could feel his effort.
"The one who is lame, save the one who can walk first." I shouted at him.
"All men are alike; they are all saved." 'he shouted back.
The thick mask looked like a ghost, and I couldn't see his expression. I didn't go back to him, or I'd be a nobody under a gun.
We didn't get beaten this time.
"Where's little Master?" After the surprise, I came back to my senses and asked one of the wounded.
"Sacrificed," he said, his eyes turning red and his voice almost crying, "when he carried me back, he saw that I had no mask and gave me his... And then..."
I didn't follow up. I knew what was going on. I'm still depressed, but I don't seem to feel depressed anymore. I buried them one by one. Lifting the last piece of cloth, I saw little Master - the only health worker who had died.
I buried him with the boys, seriously, with a mound of dirt. I wanted to write something on the board, but I did not know what to write, and finally only wrote the word "martyr".
"You have seen so many dead people that you have lost your respect for life." His voice kept ringing in my ears.
I sat there for a long time. I saw the sunset swallowed up by the night sky, saw the Buddha's plaque in the moonlight, saw the nascent red sun dispel the dawn.
He was a gift to me, I thought. With my bruised hands I stroked the Buddha's card, his instrument, calling back my reverence for life - perhaps the gift he really wanted to give me.
I waited for the dawn he didn't see. Trembling, I put the Buddha plate away, as I had done for the first time, put my clothes in order, and offered water instead of wine to the heroic spirit under the scorched earth.
High school essay 3 on the topic of gifts
High school 1 class Du Haotian
Warm on the back, cold on the chest. The wind from the west is not light or heavy blowing through the screen window, the black and gray grid in front of the waves, rippling the winter full of Windows.
Countless tiny ice crystals condensed in front of the eyes, turned into stars patches of white, the new elves happily lightly in the one-way journey. Water mist over and over again on the window, I lifted my hand to wipe out the big light, speechless standing at the window, the city is full of snow.
I looked up at the snow, and with the falling of the snow head down, lift the head of the vast sky such as snow, drooping eyes fly snow run branches. The eyes stop at a persimmon tree, which has the last persimmon left. The persimmon seemed to be immovable in the wind, posing as if fighting with the wind and snow. Seeing this, I went downstairs, bathed in the first snow, and approached the heroic fruit.
It tilted to the east by a tiny margin, and the rind was speckled with cream. Snowflakes fall on the persimmon, quietly melting layers of white frost and washing the dust. In this winter snow a total of one color heaven and earth, a little orange red shadow, withered branches and grass, watch the snowman see flying flowers.
I was amazed at the tenacity of this persimmon, and after a few words of admiration in my heart, I shifted my eyes again to the chaotic snow. The first snow is the greatest gift given to people in winter. All the green and simple beauty are sealed in the clean and pure ice crystals, which come again every year and slowly melt into sentimental tears. So, through the snow, I saw this time last year --
Half of the family sitting on a snowy night, four brothers talk about everything; I remember what the brothers were talking about and I guess I forgot, but it was fun. In the evening, a girl with a beautiful smile, her beautiful eyes do not know where to look; I had never tasted snow, but I thought it was mostly sweet, because the snowballs that day really did seem to be rolled with sugar.
This year's first snow is a new gift, last year's gift I can not retain, had to watch it be taken away. I stared at the brand-new gift box, which contained something too clear to be a memory. I saw myself walking down the street, over the overpass, around the stalls, and many ideas came to my mind like philosophy; I saw myself riding through the night in the capital, hearing cicadas chirping and rolling over the blue and yellow leaves.
The snowflakes flapping at my cheeks told me not to be immersed in memories, memories are not what the first snow gave me. I will step forward, turn around, everything in the snow is a new look, linger.
Going round and round, I returned to the persimmon next to it, it has been covered with snow around the fruit handle, the wind is not small, the persimmon is struggling to hold the branches. The persimmon obviously refuses to fall.
It is only willing to hang on the branches, do not want to rot in the mud, for passers-by hate. It struggles to cling to the branches, steady in the wind, the frozen stem refuses to relax - it must stay in the tree, it yearns for the higher world, even if it is colder and more tired.
So what do I yearn for? I like snow, love is its ice pure jade, I always pursue the ultimate pure and true, but also strive to chase absolute lofty. I love the first snow because it is the first snow, and I have always tried to ensure that I am a non-conformist in every moral and legal realm. In the process of doing what I aspire to, I will encounter many difficulties, and some people may think that I am posturing, and that it often takes more to be unique and outstanding all the time. But only to achieve the inner recognition of myself, is the purpose of everything I do, so it is worth paying anything.
The persimmons that do not want to fall have to endure more snow and survive the biting cold before sunrise each day in order to stay on the branches. This persimmon is the most suitable gift for me after the combination of autumn and winter.
Forever pure, eternal noble, is the most beautiful first snow, is that persimmon -
It's a gift I got.
The cold wind is the price of receiving the gift box.
以下是帶重點詞匯的原文內容：
以禮物為主題的高中作文
劉子悅，高一11班
我很少看到她那樣看東西。更讓我驚訝的是，這只是一個普通風格的裝飾。樹干上有一個小洞，洞里有三只毛茸茸的松鼠?？蓯?，沒錯，但不是在這個高檔禮品店的炫目展示中。盡管架子上的每一件禮物對年輕的我來說都是天價——包括這一件——但它似乎同樣便宜。
突然，她問我。“悅悅，我們編個故事好嗎?”看看這個玩具。”我不假思索地同意了，編故事是我童年最喜歡的游戲之一。我編的故事很簡單，無非是每個快樂的孩子所想的，一家三口幸福地生活在一起。可是她編了一個很奇怪的故事，松鼠一家人因為意見不合，松鼠媽媽想去西山住，松鼠爸爸想去東山住。但是小松鼠不想和他的爸爸媽媽分開。他想讓松鼠全家都呆在洞里。所以松鼠爸爸和松鼠媽媽對他說，你乖一點，我們就住在這里。如果你不守規矩，我們就分道揚鑣。于是小松鼠天天乖乖地，一家三口住在這個樹洞里。我對這個故事充滿了懷疑，但我不認為它有什么特別的寓意。我只看到她很喜歡。畢竟，她的家庭很富有，她也很聰明，我不明白為什么她看起來有點沮喪。
還有一個月她的生日就要到了，我幾乎花光了我所有的壓歲錢，向媽媽要了兩個月的零用錢才買了這個裝飾品。我知道她喜歡，我會盡力送給她的。
有很多人參加了她的生日聚會。她的房子很大，客廳里掛著一盞明亮的水晶吊燈，墻上掛著幾幅畫，客廳的一側有一個像商店櫥窗一樣的玻璃柜，里面裝滿了葡萄酒，上面寫著奇特的外文。讓我有點好笑的是，她媽媽把她爸爸的襯衫拿出來的時候，不小心把沙拉醬擦到了襯衫上。阿姨趕緊放下沙拉，一邊反復說著“對不起”，一邊給叔叔擦沙拉醬;另一方面，我的叔叔試圖阻止我的姑姑擦沙拉醬，并一直說:“沒關系。”他們倆幾乎互相鞠了個躬。我輕輕地拉著她，“你爸媽好像在演戲哦。”她的眼睛低垂下來。“他們只是在演戲。”然后她似乎意識到自己說得太多了，想拉我玩點別的。我從咖啡桌上堆積如山的禮物中翻了出來，給她看了我送的那一份。她的眼睛變紅了，她轉過身去準備我送給她的禮物。
她告訴我她沒有看到禮物是什么，但她知道我給她的一定是她最喜歡的禮物。
當暑假結束，新學期開始時，她告訴我她的父母離婚了。
以禮物為主題的高中作文
一年級11名班主任
半夜很黑，卡車的轟鳴聲把我吵醒了，我沒有睡覺。我點燃了床邊濕漉漉的蠟燭，蠟燭搖曳著，噼啪作響，發出的聲音甚至不如窗外的月光那么明亮。
我旁邊一個不睡覺的哥哥推了我。“周光明，你看那邊，又是一群新兵……我們又要打一場大戰了。”我抬起眼皮掃了一眼，借著燭光繼續擦我那把破槍。我消息很靈通，很早就聽到了風聲。
我發誓我的名字不是周光明，真的。我的名字叫周曄，葉的意思是光。我剛入伍，不到二十歲，那群老兵問我叫什么名字，我向他們解釋——結果得到了“周光明”的名字。一開始，我也爭得可憐巴巴，后來，過了十來一百來，我談煩了，干脆讓他們叫我走。
卡車的噪音停了。我熟練地把槍放在燭光和月光下，檢查了一會兒。槍磨損得很厲害，但幸好保養得很好。我吹滅了蠟燭，把槍和蠟燭像寶貝一樣放在床上，不再注意新兵們的動靜，在月光下睡著了。
幾天來，除了平時排隊的陌生面孔外，我經過的大多數人都是我認識的人。這使我非常滿意:我不想認識新兵。
夕陽西下，燃燒的彩霞預示著黃昏的來臨。一陣猛烈的槍聲突然響起，打破了寧靜的夜晚——幾名敵軍偵察兵悄悄逼近。他們被發現得很早，但我們還是死了。
我被派去觀看新兵的葬禮——新兵被分配了一些衛生工作者來埋葬人，這是他們在軍隊的第一課。我沒必要這么做