Alien

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This is just a mistake, a stupid mistake, the kind that everyone can make. It's just that from now on, there will be no more space visitors coming to visit the earth. Never again.

region of rivers and lakes

Isak Asimov

We won't have any more space tourists coming. Aliens will never land on the earth-at least not anymore.

I'm not pessimistic. In fact, aliens have landed on the earth. I know this. There may be many spaceships shuttling between millions of planets in the universe, but they will never come to us again. I know that too. And all this was caused by a ridiculous mistake.

Let me explain.

This is actually Bart Camelon's fault, so you need to know something about Bart Camelon. He's the sheriff of Ungar Ridge, Idaho, and I'm his deputy. Bart Camelon is a grumpy man, and he is more likely to get angry when he has to sort out how much income tax he should pay. You see, besides being a sheriff, he also runs a grocery store and owns shares in a sheep farm. At the same time, he also enjoys disabled veterans' allowance (knee injury) and some other similar allowances. In this way, his personal income tax is naturally complicated to calculate.

It wouldn't be so bad if he asked the tax official to help him fill out the form, but he had to fill it out himself, so he was full of complaints. Every year on April 14, he becomes inaccessible.

That UFO landed on April 1956 14, which was a big mistake.

I watched it land. At that time, my chair was backed against the wall of the sheriff's office, and I was looking at the stars outside the window, wondering whether I should go to bed after work, or continue to listen to Camelon's constant scolding. He was checking the column numbers he had filled in on the tax bill for the first time127th.

At first, it looked like a meteor, but then the light became wider and wider, and it became two things like rocket jets, and the thing fell without making any noise.

Two people came out.

I can't speak or do anything. I can't breathe, I can't signal with my hands, and I can't even stare big. I just sat there.

Camelon? He never looked up.

There's a knock at the door. The door opened and the two men on the UFO came in. If I hadn't watched the UFO land, I would have thought they were from the town. They were dressed in gray suits, white shirts and dark reddish-brown ties. They are wearing black shoes and hats, with dark skin, dark curly hair and brown eyes. Both of them look serious, and their height is about 5 feet 10 inch, and they look very similar.

God, I'm so scared.

But Cameron just looked up and frowned when the door opened. "What can I do for you, man?" He said, patting the tax bill with his hand, obviously busy.

One of the two men stepped forward and said, "We have been observing your people for a long time." He spoke carefully and word for word.

Camelon said, "My people? My wife is the only one. What did she do? "

The man in the suit said, "We chose this place as the first contact point because it is remote and quiet. We know that you are the leader here. "

"If you mean the sheriff, I am. If you have anything to say, just tell me what trouble you are in?"

"We are very cautious, following your clothing style and even adopting your appearance. We also learned your language. "

You can see that Camelon's face is beginning to show understanding. He said, "Are you two foreigners?" Camelon doesn't like foreigners very much. He hasn't seen many foreigners since he left the army, but on the whole, he tries his best to be fair. ．

The UFO bearer said, "Foreigners? Exactly. We come from the water town you call Venus. "

Camelon said without blinking an eye, "All right. This is America. We are equal here regardless of race, color and nationality. I am at your service. What can I do for you? "

"We hope that you will immediately contact your country, the important person in the United States, and come here to discuss joining our great organization."

Camelon's face grew red. "We join the sparse organization. We are already members of the United Nations, and God knows what else. I think it's for me to get the president, huh? Right now? Come to Ungar? Send an urgent letter? " He looked at me as if he wanted to see a smile on my face, but if someone pulled the chair away from behind me at the moment, I wouldn't fall to the ground.

The UFO bearer said, "It's not too late."

"Do you want Congress to come? And the Supreme Court? "

"If it helps, sheriff."

Camelon is really angry now. He slammed the tax bill on the table and shouted, "Well, you're messing with me. I don't have time to pester you smart-ass people, especially foreigners." If you don't get out of here at once, I'll lock you up for disturbing the peace and never let you out. "

"Do you want us to leave?" Asked the Venusian.

"Roll at once! Get out, go back to your hometown and don't come back. I don't want to see you. Nobody here wants to see you. "

The two men looked at each other.

The man who has been a spokesman then said, "I can see that you really don't want to be disturbed." We never want to impose our own or our organization's opinions on unintended recipients. We respect your personal freedom and leave at once. We will never return. We will issue warnings around your earth and no one will come again. "

Camelon said, "Sir, that's enough. Stop talking nonsense. I'll count to three-"

The two men turned away, and of course I knew everything they said was true. You know, I've been listening to them, but Camelon hasn't. He's only thinking about his tax bill, and I seem to know what's going on in their heads. Do you understand what I mean? I know that a barrier will be erected around the earth so that others can't enter.

I can't speak again until they are gone-it's too late. I shouted, "My God, Camelon, they are from space. Why did you drive them away? "

"From space!" He stared at me.

I shouted, "Look!" I still don't understand what happened. He was 25 pounds heavier than me, but I dragged him to the window by the collar.

He didn't resist in shock. When he came to his senses and seemed to want to knock me down, he just saw the scene outside the window and suddenly couldn't breathe.

They are getting into the flying saucer, those two people, and the flying saucer is right there, you know, big, round and shiny, quite imposing. Then the UFO took off. It rises gently and skillfully, like a feather, and one side emits an orange light. The light is getting stronger and stronger, the flying saucer becomes smaller and smaller, and finally it becomes a meteor and disappears gradually.

I said, "Sheriff, why did you send them away? They want to see the president. Now they will never come back. "

Camelon said, "I think they are foreigners. They said, learn our language. And what they said is inexplicable. "

"Hum, come on, it's still a foreigner."

"They say they are foreigners, and they look like Italians. I thought they were Italian. "

"How can they be Italian? They said they were from Venus. I heard that? They said so. "

"Venus." His eyes became more and more round.

"They say so. They call it a water town or something. You know, there is plenty of water on Venus. "

So you see, it's just a mistake, a stupid mistake, the kind that everyone can make. It's just that there won't be any Venusians visiting the earth from now on. Camelon this fool, and his damn tax bill!

I heard him mutter, "Venus! When they said water town, I thought they meant Venice!

Fifth unit

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Alex Haley served in the Coast Guard during World War II. When he was out at sea, it was a lonely day-Thanksgiving Day-and he began to seriously think about the significance of this festival. For many Americans, this festival has become a day of eating and drinking and watching football games endlessly. Haley decided to write three unusual letters to commemorate the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

Write three thank-you letters

Alexander Haley

It was 1943 during World War II, and I was a young member of the United States Coast Guard. Our ship, USS Junshi No.1, has been at sea for many days. Most cabins contain thousands of boxes of canned or air-dried food. The rest of the cabins contained many 500-pound bombs, which were carefully placed on padded shelves. Our destination is a large base on tulagi Island in the South Pacific.

I am a chef on the No.1 Military City, just like the people on the shore. On the morning of Thanksgiving, we were busy preparing a traditional dish mainly roast turkey.

Everyone who is a chef knows that it is hard to cook a big meal, put it on the table, and then scrub and clean it up. However, by the time the sun was going down, we finally got everything ready.

I want to get some air on the back deck first. I walked slowly, breathing deeply in the air, still wearing the white chef's hat on my head.

I began to think about Thanksgiving, thinking about pilgrims, Indians, wild turkeys, pumpkins, corn cobs and so on.

But my mind seems to be searching for something else-a way that I can give this festival a personal meaning. It took me about half an hour to realize that the key to the problem may be to reverse the word "Giving thanks"-that way, at least the text is easy to understand: giving thanks.

Express gratitude-just like thanking God in prayer, I thought to myself. Yes, it is. Of course it is.

But I can't stop thinking about it.

After a while, like the dawn, a clearer idea finally came to my mind-to thank others, those who have given me so much kindness that I can't repay them at all. The fact that I am deeply disturbed is that I have always taken what they have done as a matter of course. I never once thought of saying a simple thank you to any of them sincerely.

At least seven people have given me unusual and far-reaching help. Sadly, I realized that half of them had passed away-so they could never accept my thanks. The more I think about it, the more I feel ashamed. Finally, I thought of the three who were still alive. After a few minutes, I went back to my cabin.

I sat at the desk with writing paper, thinking about what the tenants had done for me, and trying to express my sincere gratitude to them in sincere words: my father Simon A. Haley, a professor at the ancient rhyme agricultural machinery normal college in Pinebra, Arkansas; Grandma Cynthia Palmer, who lives in Henning, Tennessee; And my junior high school principal, Reverend Lonnier Nelson, who lives in ripley six miles north of Henning after retirement;

My letter begins like this. I spent this Thanksgiving abroad, which reminds me of all the things you have done for me, but I have never told you how much I want to thank you-"I briefly recalled the specific examples that each of them had done for me.

For example, the most unusual thing about my father is that since my childhood, he has made me deeply aware of loving books and reading. In fact, this hobby has gradually become a family habit. After dinner, everyone gathers around the dining table to examine each other's recently read books and newly learned words. My love for books has never diminished, and I will be guided to write my own books in the future. How many times have I seen today's children so addicted to electronic media, I can't help but feel deeply sad. They have little or no understanding of the magical world that can be found in books.

I told Reverend Nelson how he started his day in junior high school in the town by praying with the assembled students every morning. I told him that anything meaningful I did later was at least partly influenced by his school morning prayers.

In my letter to my grandmother, I talked about the ways she taught me to tell the truth, to share with others, and to forgive and understand others. I thanked her for letting me eat the delicious dishes she cooked for many years. I have never eaten such delicious dishes since I left her. Finally, I thank her, because she scattered wonderful reverie in my life.

Before going to bed, all three of my letters were sent to the ship's mail bag. We mailed them all when we arrived in Tulaji.

We unloaded the goods and loaded other things, and then we went out to sea again according to the familiar routine. Day after day, week after week, my personal experience gradually faded away. When we are sailing at sea, we sometimes meet with the mail boat, which will bring us home letters. Of course, this is what we regard as the most important thing.

Whenever the ship's horn rings, listen up! Mail roll call! "About 200 sailors will rush to the deck and gather around the two sailors standing beside the precious bulging gray mail bag. The two took turns taking out handfuls of letters and reading out the names of the sailors who received them aloud; As the caller squeezed out of the crowd, he answered widely, coming! "

An "email roll call" brought my grandmother, father and pastor Nelson a reply-I read the letter, both shocked and deeply humbled.

They didn't say that they forgave me for not thanking them before. On the contrary, they thanked me, dear; Just because I remember what they did and think they did something unusual.

As a university professor, my father always pays special attention not to use any overly emotional words. Therefore, when he wrote in his letter that after teaching many young people, he now thinks that his best students include his own son, I know how moved he is.

Reverend Nelson wrote that his days as an ordinary old-school headmaster came to an end with such rapid changes in the school, and he also retired with a self-doubt mentality. "Saying that I did something wrong is far more than saying that I did something right," he wrote, adding that my letter brought him exciting confidence: his principal career is still valuable.

As soon as I saw my grandmother's familiar handwriting, I immediately recalled the scene when I stood by her white rocking chair and watched her write letters to relatives. Grandmother slowly spelled a word letter by letter, and then wrote the next word, so it took hours to write a full page. My grandmother has recently spent a lot of time expressing her loving gratitude to me. I can't help crying after reading the letter from the old man-she used to change my diaper!

Many years later, I retired from the coast guard and tried to make a living by writing. I have never forgotten how those three "thank you" letters made me realize that ordinary people secretly expect more people to express their gratitude for their efforts.

Now, Thanksgiving Day is coming again. I ask myself, what wishes do I have for the readers of this article, for our motherland and, in fact, for the whole world? Because, in the words of a kind and wise friend, "We are all very similar mortals and have similar needs." Of course, first of all, I wish you to remember this simple common sense: achieving world peace is crucial to our own survival.

Besides, I have other wishes-this wish is so strong that I print this sentence at the bottom of all my stationery and praise all kinds of beautiful things. "