You will meet many different people and things in your life. Some are just passers-by, but some will leave a deep impression in your memory.

Below I bring you some narrative prose. You are welcome to read it. I hope you like it.

About Narrative Prose Article 1: "The Rattan Chair in the Sun" "Creak, creak", a familiar sound floated into my eardrums, and I knew that my grandpa must be lying on the wicker chair again admiring the flowers.

Grandpa, who is in his early eighties, has a skinny figure but a straight back.

My hair has turned gray, and wrinkles like old vines in the mountains have covered my cheeks. My grandfather often lamented, "Time leaves no one behind!" I have always been a little afraid of my grandfather.

I remember when I was very young, I broke his flower, and my grandfather was so angry that he beat me with a broom in front of my father.

Later, my grandfather mentioned this matter. At that time, he was also sitting on a wicker chair, squinting his eyes, and said softly: "These flowers have feelings. They have been with me for many years. Now when I am fine,

Give them some water, turn over the soil, and see if they bloom, and I will be in a good mood." Grandpa seemed to be talking to himself, but his calm tone and serene face in the sun really made me feel guilty.

It’s been a while! Grandpa is not very talkative. In his spare time, besides playing with the flowers, he would put on his reading glasses and look through the old dictionaries.

When I was a child, if I had words, allusions, or characters that I didn’t know, I would just tell my grandfather, and he would put on his presbyopic glasses, open up his vast vocabulary, and give me a satisfactory answer.

At that time, in my eyes, my grandfather seemed to be a thick dictionary, knowing everything.

Of course, what particularly awes me about my grandfather is his righteousness.

My grandpa used to be the section chief of the Finance Department, which is such a coveted position, but my grandpa has always done his job well.

His stupidity became a private joke among his colleagues, and even his grandmother and aunts complained about his honesty.

But my grandfather was very calm, "I don't do anything wrong, and I'm not afraid of ghosts knocking on the door in the middle of the night. What does it mean to have a selfless heart and a broad mind? That's just me." After my grandfather finished speaking, he patted his chest heavily.

I am growing up day by day, but my grandpa is getting older day by day.

But my fear of grandpa still exists.

I think this is nothing but the reason why I was impressed by his inner majesty and infected by his righteousness! However, no matter what, he is the kind old man sitting on the wicker chair and the grandfather who loves me.

The afternoon sun shone gently on the wicker chair, and the flowers swayed in the air. I saw a satisfied smile on my grandpa's face.

This image is fixed in my memory.

Chapter 2: "Love is Never Humble" For a long time, I have been troubled by certain issues in life, such as the value of life, the true love of the world, and so on.

The space in my mind is filled with the indifference of the walls isolated by buildings, which makes my heart that has been enriched by this age like a narcissus gradually drying up in the desert.

One afternoon, an unknown American song was played on campus. Several classmates and I stood in the corner of a building chatting. On the table in front of us were cardboard boxes for donations for children in disaster areas.

In order to attract the attention of passers-by, we pasted a set of enlarged black and white photos on a long red cloth. The children in the photos were sitting in a classroom set up in a tent, looking at them with innocent and eager eyes.

ahead.

Not far from us - on the roadside in front of the school's Xisan cafeteria, there are several overloaded garbage cans. Every time I pass by with a lunch box to cover my nose, I always see an old man focusing on using a shovel or hand.

Something is stirring.

Over time, I became familiar with this poor old man with half a white beard, with strong disdain.

I didn’t pay attention to the arrival of this old man who picked up garbage.

When he walked past me with a stooped body and struggled to carry a dirty nylon bag, he suddenly stopped and stood in front of the red cloth. He squinted and looked at the set of photos carefully. It took a long time to move from one to the other.

another one.

I couldn't help but burst out laughing, and Weizi on the side pulled me: "Be careful, don't accidentally let him take the donated clothes as garbage!" I smiled and lowered my head to clean up the clothes, big or small, new or old.

Donate.

Suddenly I felt something shaking in front of me. I raised my head in surprise. The old man came to me at some point. A hand as black as old pine bark tremblingly handed over the money.

I was so surprised that I didn’t know what to do. When I came back to my senses, he had put the money on the table, waved his hands, and left with his head held high as if he had completed a great mission.

I still stood blankly, looking at his hunched back as he walked away, and an inexplicable respect slowly flowed through my heart.

This life, which was once small and humble in my eyes, deeply shocked me with its simple power.

In an era when true love is somewhat thinning, this old man, who may have been forgotten by people because of his poverty, has used the blood of simple love flowing in his life to fulfill some responsibilities that many people indifferently regard as obligations.