My story ends with a high school composition.

A. the beginning and end of my story writing

Beginning: Childhood is like a treasure chest, filled with colorful stones, and each stone records its own childhood memories.

Of course, I am no exception!

The end: childhood "stupid things" are funny to think of so far.

Hope to adopt

B.writing my story in high school

I suddenly don't like the story I told yesterday. I want to take another story to the competition. The story of the coffee book bar.

20 10 1 1 month, the unique sunny autumn outside the window makes people forget their sadness. As usual, Sansan wandered around the Internet for many weekends and took part in the activity of "telling stories to win coffee" on a whim.

Actually, it's not such a whim. Maybe she just read story 36 to play a prank, or maybe she just wanted to secretly express her secret love. Anyway, she told an extremely vulgar unrequited love story. Finally, she cheated a little, invited her friends to comment on her, and finally won a free cup of coffee with the last place.

Shijiazhuang is far from S city, and even farther from her hometown G province. Anyway, Sansan couldn't find a reason to let her go to Shijiazhuang, not just because of a cup of coffee. But it doesn't matter, at least the owner promised that he could make coffee at home even if the store was gone.

Years later, how many years? Seven years, seven years later, in early winter, Sansan passed by that city. When we arrived, the first snow in winter began to snow. The real snow belongs to the kind in the north, goose feather snow. Sansan, who grew up in the south, is looking for a small cafe in that quiet city at dusk on a snowy night. That coffee shop doesn't barter things like Duoer Cafe, but has simple wooden bookshelves, a large number of books and soft sofas, so that all vagrants can find refuge there. Most importantly, there is a shopkeeper with a warm smile. She has heard many stories and told many stories. However, the above is only the imagination of San San.

Fortunately, the imaginary cafe has not been lost in seven years. Pushing open the door, the wind chimes at the door sang happily. It's time to go home at night, and there are few guests in the shop. The shopkeeper was surprised at the visitors in such bad weather, but still smiled and asked, What do you need? Sansan vaguely thought, this is really the same as imagined. The shopkeeper really has a warm smile and bright eyes. She is a girl who makes people feel at ease at first sight.

Three, three, code word, I'm seven years late. So I leaned against the bookshelf, flipped through the books at will and chatted with the shopkeepers who were making coffee one by one. The shopkeeper told the stories of the first four people, where they came from, why they came here, and what kind of stories they had. Sansan seldom talks, just wants to listen quietly, obsessed with the voice of the shopkeeper, or obsessed with the tranquility of this moment.

Outside the window, it was getting dark. The snow didn't stop, but it rained harder and harder, covering the whole city. Inside, warm cafes, fragrant coffee, orange lights, considerate shopkeepers and steaming black coffee in their hands finally found a sense of stability after seven years, just like returning home.

Until the door was closed, the wind chimes sang happily again. Sansan didn't come out right away. She left the door open and the north wind blew in wrapped in snowflakes, regardless of the cold. She turned around, looked directly at the owner's puzzled eyes and asked, "Do you believe that one person can like another person quietly for seven years? Although the other party knows nothing. " The shopkeeper stopped to clean the bar, smiled and said something that Sansan liked: "I believe it." Because of the master's determination, Sansan finally got the peace of mind of one thing.

Outside, the snow still hasn't stopped. In the winter wind, snowflakes drifted involuntarily, some fell on the hair, some got into the gap of the scarf, and Sansan looked up at the snow in front of the shop, afraid of tears dripping down.

The hero in that story seven years ago sent a wedding invitation to Sansan yesterday. When she opened the envelope, the whole person trembled and could not stand up. She remembers that the original reason why she wrote that story seven years ago was because she had a dream. In the dream, he has a wife with children. He smiled like a spring breeze man and introduced her in a crisp voice: "This is my wife." Sansan woke up and breathed a sigh of relief in the face of nothingness in the dark. Fortunately, this is just a dream.

However, seven years finally made her nightmare come true. Sang Sang shook his head, trying to forget the dazzling red, and finally walked into the snow without hesitation. ...

I am a visionary! Boss, please vote for me in order to make our meeting come true. In other words, I actually don't know your gender. I just imagine you as a woman. Don't blame me. I hope you like this story. Actually, I want to write mainly about you, but I really don't know about you. ...

C. "My Story" high school composition 800 words

My story

In a deep sleep, the shadow that trudges to me in the middle of winter secretly watches-Ming

I admit, this kind of life, I am caught in the middle, spinning forward, contradictions come and go, again and again. Once, now and in the future, like luggage, it belongs to me firmly. However, it was the first to arrive. It sank to the bottom of the box, occasionally revealing a corner, and everything appeared in front of us strongly and clearly.

On the corner of the bed, I came across some photos that my mother turned out the other day. They are pictures of me learning to dance when I was a child. Some are painful expressions during training, some are strong and persistent postures, and some are moments of dancing with peers on a brilliant stage. At that time, my head was always low, my face was always raised, and I always had a pair of unbounded eyes. I don't think I should choose to give up when I am trying to hide my full loss and pain.

As far as I can remember, when I was less than 4 years old, I lied about my age, so I learned to dance with older children. I can't stand the teacher's strict requirements. I can't stretch my legs to touch my toes, and I can't catch a pole taller than me. I cried and cried all the time, staring at my mother outside the door. I pouted and lost my temper, fearing that the teacher would hit me. My mother taught me over and over again that teachers should bend their legs when they leave and insist when they come. I was thinking, even so, she didn't want me to give up. What will happen in the future? I don't know. I just cried. Usually, when I couldn't stand the intensity of practice, I fell asleep in my mother's arms in the middle of running.

Suddenly one day, I looked at myself in the mirror in front of the telephone pole, only to find that all the strangers seemed to have left, and everything here was so familiar. I am familiar with dance steps, and I can even take the lead proudly; I understand its charm, and I can even indulge in the practice room alone. Over the years, I have become the top student in my class, and I am no longer reluctant to cry timidly. When everything has changed, there is only one thing that keeps me from saying my eternal feelings. My name is Tiny. Tiny. I like that name. She makes me so closely connected with reality. She made me forget the girl wearing a small fur coat and how she became like this. She made me cherish it. I have overcome my timidity and endured the pain of bruises on my body. The pain of ankle sprain and ligament strain is still in my heart. But that time, when I was in the sixth grade, I was excited because of the national first prize. I heard the invitation of French exchange and cried with my mother. Everything at that time, that moment was different from the past, which made me grow.

So I persisted in this way until the first day of junior high school. But I can't. Really can't. Long-distance travel on weekends will make my mother and I extremely tired. I usually do less exercise. Every time after class, I will spread out on the bed, and my legs and body will be sore. Helpless, helpless, anxious, finally put it down, put it down. As time goes by, everything is fading quietly. ...

After a long time, my mother began to say that my back was bent and my glasses hung up. As soon as I got angry, she said, "What about my previous temperament?" I've practiced for so many years. "Occasionally, I try to stand up straight and take off my glasses. But I can't keep racing against time. When I bend my head to write and look up at the blackboard, I feel more helpless.

That's all, but I'm not sentimental. The dead always leave.

It's just that this journey seems to me to be meaningful and warm forever. I am so keen on dance steps that she taught me to be strong and not to let go. Now that she is studying, let the girl with a tiger wallet and coat grow up again. I bit my lip and looked down and wrote ...

1February, my story dozed off, and the shadow that trudged to me in the middle of winter secretly watched.

D. my story high school composition

My story-Is the cocoon binding itself a metamorphosis or an early death?

Recently, the sky has always been overcast, and everything has become gray and gloomy. Maybe God is in a bad mood and has suffered more than himself, even people have suffered. At this time, some people always come out to express their values. The so-called feelings can also be said to be "complaints". You don't say anything when you are bitter, but you want to force others to waste their time listening to him.

( 1)

Two years ago today, like today's junior three students, I was struggling desperately for the senior high school entrance examination. At that time, the weather was exactly the same as it is now, as changeable, as rainy and as unchanging ... as if nothing had changed, the weather was as abnormal and there was as much homework. The teacher has always stressed that the third grade is a turning point in your life. If you pass the exam, your tomorrow will be better. Everyone knows the consequences if you don't do well in the exam. I tried to convince myself to believe what the teacher said, but something strange in my mind has been resisting, and my heart is surging inexplicably. ...

The exam came as scheduled, but the day before the exam, it rained heavily, as if it were the last warning for someone to do something. That day, I was on my way home after seeing the examination room again. I rode in the rain and was washed away by the heavy rain, because I had been looking forward to this moment for a long time. This time, I finally had a good rain, because I didn't bring my raincoat ... I believe that rain can help people wash away their worries and sorrows, and it is best to wash away the shackles of thoughts, memories and flexibility.

E. High school composition "My Story"

I was not a happy child from the beginning, and I am not now. Maybe in the future.

It has been 14 years since my parents divorced. I forgot to mention that I am only 17 years old. Memories always come to my mind in pieces.

I seem to remember the scene in court 14 years ago. I haven't forgotten my father holding me and sitting on the floor of my room crying. I know how sad my father was at that time. My wife left before I was 30. My father's relatives told me from an early age that my mother left my father and me cruelly. But they don't know. I'm not old, but I still know it's dad's fault. It's not shameful.

My mother wanted to take me away, but my grandparents stayed with the money. At that time, my mother was very helpless and went to Suzhou.

I live with my grandparents. Now I swear, they are my closest relatives, even my parents can't compare with them. Of course I won't forget that my grandparents raised me. Childhood is always lonely. I'm like a different person. I don't touch children my age. I just think about my heart all day. This situation is really terrible for a child, even cruel. I didn't think much, just thought more thoroughly and worried. My family said that I was sensible since I was a child, that I was worry-free and that I was not like my peers. I just laugh at them for praising me for being sensible, but how can they know how sad I am? I want to have children as happy as my peers and playmates, but no, never.

I haven't had my parents around for more than ten years, and I have no childhood. I live in memories and fantasies all day. What I want most is that my parents and I can be together. Of course, it will never happen in this life. (prose net: Three Smells)

I can't remember whether she is 9 or 10. She joined my family. I have always been a smooth child, and I will ask her mother to respect her. She is a math teacher in high school. I always thought she was of high quality, but, well, that's not the case. I've always been afraid of her, even afraid, who knows it's torture. I really won't forget that it was this highly educated teacher who caught blood stains on my father's back just because I lived with my father for one night. This petty woman finally left my house, and of course she got divorced. But I love her baby very much. It's a girl. I love her very much and miss her very much. If she were still with me, she would be seven years old. She is a lovely, beautiful and lively girl. I always thought it was a gift from God, but God thought I was lonely and asked a child named Sister to accompany me. Unfortunately, in the end, she left with her mother, and her father was in pain. I am heartbroken to death. Dad's second wife divorced Dad in the same way, hurting Dad and me. But I still don't hate her.

People will grow up, learn to be strong and learn to be independent. I understood it a long time ago.

The past is like a drop in thousands of raindrops, and the light evaporates at any time.

Dad's career has ups and downs. How much I hate that a child has to suffer so much, but I still don't hate it. Because my father is really my reliance in this world, and he is really my family. I love him and dad. He is the most difficult person, I know.

Now I have a third mother, which is ridiculous. You will laugh. I sincerely hope that it is the end of my father, no, it is the end of me, the end of our family. She is also a highly educated person. I really look like a wild child in front of her, and I don't know anything. Besides, she is always so knowledgeable and treats people well. I really admire her, respect her and even like her.

Since childhood, I like to turn sadness into words, only sadness. I can't find happiness or pleasure in my words. This is another kind of injury.

I have learned to forbear and live in the world since I was a child. I don't think I'm impulsive. I think I'm calm, except in the face of feelings.

Nobody knows me, and I am not sad. I'm not who they think I am. I am a very withdrawn person, but I am extremely afraid of loneliness. I may have an unusually changeable personality. I don't think I need friends, yes. I have no real friends. I only blame myself for seeing everyone too clearly and thoroughly. I only hate myself for always thinking about tragedy. How many eyes, misunderstandings, incomprehension and complaints have I received since I was a child? What complaints do I have? Things have changed, and when I look back, I just feel unwilling and unbearable. Why should I bring it up? Why write it to remind yourself of the past? No, I can’t .

Everyone says my writing is messy, so I write whatever comes to mind. Yes I'm anxious to give play to my inner things, so I'll feel better first, won't I?

I think I am destined to be a lonely person. I'm only halfway through my story, and I hope to have a happy ending.

Give it to people who understand.

Transferred from prose net://Three essays

F. Think of an ending for the composition My Story

Lost, forgotten, with the moonlight and Xia Feng breaking ground-time flies like water, but my story goes on forever-all the time. . .

G. The beginning and end of my story writing

Introduce yourself first and reveal the theme.

The story of naming me at the end can make others think.

H. My story composition begins and ends.

From small to large, stories happened to me, as many as stars, countless. And these stories will also bring you some unique feelings, how about it? Do you want to see me? Please look down!