在城市的尽头，没有繁华的街市，闪亮的霓虹红灯；在城市的尽头，只有破旧的棚户区，有饱经风霜的生命；在城市尽头，有他们这样一群人。
让我怎么称呼他们？外来务工人员子女？农民子弟？亦或农民工二代？不，我不想用这些冰冷的名字称呼他们，我多想也只想叫着他们带着泥土气息的乳名，拉着他们的小手，走近他们的生活……..
他们从小生长在故乡的青山绿水中，纯洁的灵魂在田野里抽穗拔节。在山野的风中，他们奔跑着，憧憬着。风从田野中吹过，吹进了城市，为了生计，为了未来，他们跟从父母来到了城市，在城市的尽头扎下了根。于是习惯了青山绿水的双眸第一次碰触到了高楼大厦，车水马龙。他们不知道怎样穿过六车道的马路，小小的手指怎么也数不清写字楼的层楼。繁华的现代文明没有给他们带来快乐，相反，却在他们心中烙下了浅浅的伤痕。
他们背起书包，小心翼翼地融入到了城市的生活。可是却在 “城市人” 异样的眼光中，第一次明白了户口与暂住证的区别，觉得自己的衣着、语言的都与城市格格不入。他们都是父母心上的宝啊，却过早承担了不属于这个年龄的负担。
放学回家，他们做好简单的晚饭，父母还在工地上或菜场上劳作；午夜醒来，发现泪眼中城里的星空没有家乡的明亮；他们悄悄许愿，希望打工子弟小学明天不会因交不出电费而被查封…….
然而，在他们日益长高的身体上，我看到了他们的成长。记得一位记者问一个打工子弟学校的孩子，学成后是否会回到家乡时，小姑娘毫不犹豫地说：当然，一定回去。那一刻，我差点落下泪来。
记得那年春晚他们稚气的宣言：“我们的学校很小，但我们的成绩不差”，“我们不和城市里的孩子比爸爸”，“北京，也是我们的家。” 他们逐渐成熟，告别昨天的羞怯，开始迎接新的一天。
虽然，他们还在为不多的学费而苦恼；虽然，学校还是交不上水电费；虽然，还有好多东西不够完善…..；虽然有好多个“虽然”，但是，只有一个 “但是”就足够了，已经好多视线转向了他们。
太阳从地平线上升起，照亮了城市的尽头，照亮了他们的生活。
他们，终将会成为我们。
用英文翻译这篇作文：
At the end of the city, there are no bustling streets, flashing neon lights; at the far end of the city, there are only dilapidated shanty towns with weather-beaten lives; at the far end of the city, there is a group like them.
What shall I call them? Children of migrant workers? A peasant boy? Or the second generation of migrant workers?
No I don’t want to call them by those cold names. I just want to call them by their earthy baby names, hold their little hands, and walk into their lives …….
They grew up in the hometown of green mountains and green water, pure souls in the field heading. In the mountain wind, they run, understand the scene. The wind blew through the field and into the city, and they followed their parents to the city for a living, for a future, and they put down roots at the end of the city. So used to the eyes of green mountains and clear water for the first time touched the high-rise buildings, heavy traffic. They don’t know how to cross a six-lane road, and their tiny fingers can’t count the floors of an office building. The prosperous modern civilisation didn’t bring them happiness, on the contrary, but in their heart branded superficial scars.
They pack their schoolbags and carefully blend into city life. But when they saw “city person” unusual vision, and understood for the first time registered permanent resident and the difference of temporary residence certificate, also they feel their own clothes, language and so on are incompatible with the city. They are the treasures of their parents’ hearts, but too early to bear the burden of their age.
When they come home from school, they cook a simple dinner, but their parents still work on the construction site or in the market. When they wake up in the middle of the night, and found tears in the city of the stars are not as bright as their hometown: they quietly wish that the migrant children of the primary school tomorrow will not be shut down for failing to pay the electricity bill…….
However, in their increasingly tall bodies, I saw their growth. I remember a reporter asked a child from a migrant school if she would return to her hometown after she finished her studies. The girl said without hesitation, “of course, I will go back!” At that moment, I almost burst into tears.
