I lay there buried alive under our house when the bomb hit our city. The great 1 started by the bomb came nearer and nearer to us as workers tried to 2 us. “Hurry! ” they cried to one another as the flames(火焰) came nearer. At last they reached us and 3 me and my mother out from under everything 4 the flames reached us .

    Later, as I thought of the pilot of the plane that 5 the bomb on our city, I cried, “I hate him. I hate him.” The people with marked faces from the 6 of the bomb made me cry, “I hate him.” I saw people suffering a terrible, 7  death. Again and again I cried as I saw these people, “I hate him!”

    Some time later, that man appeared in a meeting I 8 . As I looked at him, I 9 him very much. Then I listened to what he told us of his 10 the day when he dropped the bomb on our city. I heard him say, “When I flew over the city 11  we dropped the bomb, I cried, 'Oh, God ,what have I 12 '.” I could see that he found it 13 to speak of that day.

As this happened I suddenly 14 my hatred (仇恨) of him was 15. It only made me unhappy also. As I did this, it was as if a heavy load (负担)16my shoulders. Then I decided to 17 him. I did so and my life was 18.

    I now help those who suffer from 19 other people. I try to help them to 20  everyone, as I am now able to do.

Dear Mr. Jones,

    I expect you may be slightly surprised to receive a letter from someone living as near as your next-door neighbor; but I have to raise a1that it will be easier for me to discuss in writing.

    You may have 2 that I have a line of apple trees running alongside the fence that 3our two gardens. You may also have taken pleasure in the frequent sight of your two children sitting on your lawn directly by the fence. And you may 4have noticed that my apple trees, so to speak, 5 the fence and seem to look down at your children with interest.

    It is only natural that your children should sometimes seem to 6that interest. And it is not only natural, but, I acknowledge, quite legal, for them 7 to show that interest by picking all the apples that8 on your side of the fence.

    But to be plain with you, Mr. Jones, I am tired of seeing your children, day after day, tear the 9 off the side of every one of my apple trees, and leave my trees looking as though a10had been fought on one side of them. I am, if anything, even more tired of11 these fine autumn mornings, to find even the apples on 12 side of the fence much less in 13. I know this is the work of your children, 14 last night I was woken at midnight by the noise they were making climbing one of my trees, and (as they may have told you) chased them home.

While I am on the subject, I am at least 15 to you for keeping your bonfires on the far side of your garden this year. Last year neither I nor your children had any apples, because the smoke from your bonfires 16 all the flowers before the apples had time to form. I very much hope that17 —-for the first time since I came to this village—-I shall have my apples, and your children will have theirs and that the sight of the line of apple trees will be a 18 to us both.

    19, I shall not express my displeasure in writing to you, but shall have to refer the matter to those capable of taking stronger 20 .

Yours sincerely,

J. Smith

Survival in the Andes

    On October 13, 1972, a small plane flying to Chile accidentally crashed into a mountain in the Andes. How some of the passengers 1 to live is one of the greatest survival stories ever told.

    The survivors 2 inside the remains of the plane, using seat covers for blankets, and waited for a 3 that never came. Days turned into weeks. It was urgent to find a way to 4. Three of the passengers—Canessa, Parrado, and Vizintin—volunteered to 5 through the mountains to search for help. When they left, each man wore similar clothes: three pairs of socks, a plastic bag 6 each foot to keep the water out, boots, four pairs of trousers, and four sweaters. Many of the clothes came from those who had died in the crash. The three men 7 that they would survive and bring back help.

    For part of the first day, they were glad to make some 8. But as the land and weather changed, climbing became 9 . After several days, they reached what they thought was the top. They had  10 this moment for days. On the other side of the top, they hoped, would be a 11 leading down and out of the mountains. However, they saw the same snow-covered tops. All hope wasn't 12. Although they were still in the middle of the mountains, Parrado 13 two low tops far away that didn't have snow. If they could get there, they would be out of the Andes.

    Within the following days they walked toward the two low tops. Little by little, the landscape began to change. Snow 14 completely, and flowers were everywhere. “This is the valley,” Canessa said. “This is the way 15 .” Then things of humanity started to appear—a few cans on the ground, some farm animals in a field. By December 21, the extremely 16 men made it to the town of Los Maitenes, and a rescue team was sent immediately to 17 for the survivors who were still high in the Andes.

    Finally all of the remaining survivors were 18 . The memories of the crash in the Andes would be with the friends forever, but for now, their terrible 19 was over. They had made it out—20 .

    It started on a Friday 1 when the 5-year-old and his older brother were playing 2their home near the resort town of Aspen, Colorado. Hearing the sound of 3, the mother raced to her front yard to find a 4 sight: A mountain lion was bent over her 5-year-old son, biting him. The poor boy was completely under the cat and was 5 to get free.

    So the mother 6 she charged the animal, pulled away one of its 7 suddenly with a lot of force and discovered her son's whole head was in its mouth. She didn't back down. The mother 8 the lion's mouth and got it open,9 the boy. She then quickly picked him up and ran away.

    The boy's father had just returned from a run when the 10 occurred. He 11 into the car with his wife and son and called 911 shortly before 8 p.m. As they 12 to a hospital in Aspen. The boy suffered cuts to his 13, face and neck. The mother 14 bite marks on her hand and scratches on her leg. Aspen valley Hospital reported that the child was not seriously injured and in 15 condition and has since been 16 to children's Hospital in Denver for his recovery.

    The mountain lion was estimated to be about 2 years old and was not fully grown. It was, perhaps, forced out to hunt on its own. Young lions may be keen on easy 17, like pets and small children.18, it wasn't a big cat. Had it been a 110-pound lion- which was once seen around there - this would have been a much 19 story.

    The mother, who had to physically remove the lion's paws from her son's face, is credited with 20 his life. She's a real hero.

    I was facing a decision. While delivering laundry (洗好的衣服) into the 1 bedrooms, I came across my thirteen-year-old sister's diary, suffused (弥漫) with 2. What was I to do?

    I had always been 3 of my little sister. Her charming smile, endearing personality and many talents 4 my place as leading lady. I competed with her secretly and grew to hate her natural abilities. 5, we seldom spoke. I sought opportunities to 6 her. Her diary lay at my feet, and I didn't think of the 7 of opening it, considering not her privacy, nor the morality of my action.

    I took the book from the floor and opened it 8, looking through the pages, searching for my name, convinced that I would discover 9. As I read, the blood ran from my face. I felt 10 and sat on the floor. There was neither charge nor hate. There was a brief description of herself, her goals and her dreams followed by a short description of the person who has 11 her most.

    I started to cry. I was her 12. She admired me for my personality, my achievements and, ironically (嘲讽地), my 13. She wanted to be like me. She had been watching me for years, quietly admiring my choices and actions. I stopped reading, 14 with the crime I had committed.

    I had wasted years hating her and now I had violated her 15. It was I who had lost something beautiful, and it was I who would never 16 myself to do such a thing again. Reading the earnest words my sister had written seemed to 17 an icy barrier around my heart, and I longed to know her again. On that fateful afternoon, as I 18 the laundry and rose to my feet, I 19 to go to her—this time to experience instead of to judge, to 20 instead of to fight. After all, she was my sister.

Even 15 years after my grandfather's death, he is still following me around, 1 in my ear on what to do. He is still the British-accented 2 in my head, giving me a nod of 3 for my right choice, and raising an eyebrow 4 he disagrees with something I'm doing. His wise and optimistic views 5 to affect my life.

My grandfather walked 10,000 steps 6 every day, and not because he had a $100 fitness tracker 7 him to do so. Instead of "exercising," he worked in his garden, 8 vegetables that kept our family through many winters and roses that were the joy of many summers.

He was good to the 9 in the way that people used to be before they had to be told it was the 10 thing to do. Actually, he never 11 a car or learned to drive, so he walked everywhere he could and took a bus the rest of the time.

After my grandmother died, I used to go and 12 with him on weekends. We walked around, chatted to the neighbors, and went to the 13 for food and milk. Occasionally I would 14 a little cake for him in his kitchen. At the end of the day, before he 15 the light, he would say, "That was a (a) 16 day. I enjoyed every minute of it." I never doubted for a moment that he 17 it.

In the morning, I'd 18 to his whistling in the kitchen downstairs (usually it was Raindrops Keep Falling on Mr Head). At the time, it 19 me—I am not a morning person—but now I'd give anything to hear that 20 one more time.