Memories
2024-2025 Personal Narratives
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Life is full of memories, good or bad;
the events of our past pave the way for our future.
This page is dedicated to memories.
The Nostalgia
Personal Narrative by Yeilyn Marie Maldonado Sierra, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
Nostalgia, its bittersweet ache for the past, is a powerful force. It's a longing for simpler times, a yearning for moments that have slipped away like sand through our fingers. This is how I feel when I look back on my childhood. While nostalgia can be comforting, like a warm blanket of familiarity, it can also be tinged with sadness. The realization that those cherished moments are gone, never to be re-lived the same way. Yet, it's this very blend of joy and sorrow that makes nostalgia so special, it reminds us of who we once were, how far we've come, and what we've lost along the way.
I was born in 2007 when the 2000s were booming with new music, technology, and games; fashion was at its peak. Everyone had their style and interest, each unique. New pop stars were on the rise, like Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, and Rihanna, with the world wrapped around their fingers. Each of these artists brought the stage to life with their unique fashion sense; they were the “it” girls. Everywhere you went, you would hear them on the radio on repeat in people’s backyards. I remember playing Minecraft with my cousin, sitting down together, being kids, and tussling for the iPad. I remember games like Donkey Kong and Mario were a big hit in my house. My mom was passionate about beating every level and testing her abilities. I was very spoiled growing up, getting whatever toy I desired, and both my parents worked their hardest to give me a good childhood. Life seemed so colorful then, zebra and leopard printed patterns, and full of vivid colors. Through my eyes, everything these days is a hue of beige and neutral colors, lacking in diversity, only focused on the internet's fast trends.
I lived in New Jersey for 5 years. I vividly remember the tall, dark green apartment I used to live in with my family. My parents didn't even need a car because we could walk to any destination we needed to go in the city. I remember the loud sounds of the bright yellow taxis crowded in the streets, the sounds of the cars zooming by, people conversing and listening to music in bodegas. The corner store next to my house was my favorite place. It had all the best snacks, and it was very convenient for me. The owner's name was Frank, and he had a close relationship with me and my cousin. We would often joke around.
Life in the early 2000s felt simpler. There was a certain innocence, a sense of community that is harder for me to find today. We spent our afternoons outside playing tag, listening to music, and playing with bubbles. Our interactions were face-to-face, unfiltered by screens and social media. We connected in a way that felt more genuine, more authentic. There was a slower pace, a greater appreciation for the small things. Family dinners were sacred. Weekends were for adventures, and the world felt a little less chaotic, a little more hopeful. While technology has undoubtedly brought progress, there's a part of me that misses the unhurried rhythm of those days, the genuine connections, and the simple joys that defined my 2000s childhood. People would go crazy over an iPod or a “flip phone,” now those things are memories of the past and aren't the rave anymore.‘Til this day, I can still remember the smell of old crayons and Play-Doh. I can still remember the toy cell phones that used to sing. The past is so strong in my mind.
It hits hard knowing that future generations won't experience the unique joy of growing up in the 2000s. They'll never know the thrill of listening to music on the radio, watching movies on a DVD player, or listening to cassette mixtapes. Their childhoods will be filled with different toys, different games, and different music, shaped by a world that's constantly evolving. While their experiences will undoubtedly be meaningful in their own way, there's a part of me that mourns the loss of that specific era, that particular blend of innocence and excitement. It's like a secret language that only those who lived through it can truly understand, a shared history that binds us together in a way that transcends time. With all its quirks and charms, it will eventually fade away, a bittersweet reminder to enjoy everything to its fullest and cherish those moments because those were times we will never get back.
My Dog Dash
Personal Narrative by Brody Cahoon, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
Dash my childhood pet, was my companion, my best friend, and never left my side. Throughout the years, he and I went on countless adventures together, from exploring the uncharted grounds of Sherwood Forest to roaming the vast fields surrounding my neighborhood. He was my sidekick for as long as I could remember, and up until the day he passed, he was a survivor who stood in the face of death and prevailed. As a result of his valorous actions, Dash came to my rescue many times when I could not fend for my own.
One hot and humid day, Dash and I were playing outside in my grandparents’ backyard. I was about five years old at the time, so I was pretty defenseless. We decided, for whatever reason, that it would be more fun to play under the porch; little did I know I’d be putting myself in danger. As soon as we crawled under, I positioned myself lying on my back. I began to inch my body to the middle of the porch and lay there with Dash, digging worms and insects out of the ground. As I was digging around, I felt something slither across the ground as it scraped against my forearm. When I looked down, I saw it, a copperhead snake. I didn’t know at the time that it was venomous, but I let out a scream, hoping to draw the attention of my Grandparents. As I heard my Papa yelling for me, I looked over and saw Dash, like a knight in shining armor, mauling and ultimately killing the snake. His actions were compared to a ray of hope, piercing through the gloom of my despair. Soon after, Papa pulled me out, and Dash was right behind me with a wagging tail and a deceased snake between his jaws.
My grandparents still tell this story to me to look back and acknowledge the hero of a German Shepherd we once owned. He wasn’t just good at protecting me, he also lived up to his breed's name. Known for herding sheep, German Shepherds are First-Class Leaders, especially when it comes to navigating a toddler from one house to the next.
It was Easter Sunday, and my mom was working during the day. My dad was home, but it was early, probably seven in the morning. Somehow, my little three-year-old self managed to unlock my front door and frolic my way to the road. Luckily, Dash was right behind me and immediately knew where to go, to my Grandparents. They don’t live far since we live in the same neighborhood, but I didn’t know how to get there at the time. Being as little as I was, the road seemed to stretch for miles. As we walked down the road, I played mailman and checked everyone’s mailbox. It wasn’t but two houses down, and one of my family members who also lives nearby noticed me and got in his truck and followed me to make sure I was safe. From his viewpoint, he watched as I followed Dash the entire way, looking back periodically to check in on me. As we reached my Grandparents, I ran inside. I got my Easter present, and Dash got himself a Milkbone.
After returning from a family vacation, my family and I came back to my Grandparents’ house to pick Dash up, but that day we noticed a drastic change in his demeanor. Usually, he would run at lightspeed when he saw us, and immediately would go in between our legs; it was just his thing. Instead, this time, something was out of the ordinary for him. He walked up to us very slowly as if
carrying a ton of bricks on his back. Each step sank into the ground like he was walking on quicksand. When we reached him, we noticed that his spine was showing slightly more than usual. We didn’t think much of it and kinda just brushed these signs off, anticipating that he was just having a bad day. As time went on, Dash started to lose weight. It got to the point where he was only eating a few bites of food a day, his bones showing through his skin. Over the span of just one month, he looked like a completely different dog. A dog that I couldn’t recognize.
My family doesn’t have top-notch careers, so we were looking for a beacon of hope instead of taking Dash to the vet sooner. As Dash started to become lame, my parents decided that we needed an explanation for what was wrong with him. We all spent one last night with him together as a family, and by the morning, we were headed to the clinic. As we got Dash out of the car, we made our way through the doors and into the clinic. Instantly, a sense of heartbreak and somberness flooded the room. Death cast its shadow behind us. We were seated and waited for Dr.Vancura to call us in. At the time, she was the head veterinarian and was highly reputable. She was the vet who did surgery on my mother’s German Shepherd, Marley, after being hit by a semi truck. As nostalgia and nausea overflowed my brain, I sat and contemplated all the fond memories we shared together. Trying to think felt like an impossible task; my heart burned with every breath. As Dr.Vancura called us in, I imagined the worst possible outcomes. For some reason, I knew what was to come. She took Dash to the back and ran some diagnostic tests, including an X-ray. When they came back, the anticipation felt like pins and needles. She gave us a breakdown of his condition. He had a rare type of extremely aggressive cancer. It spread throughout his entire body in a few weeks, causing a massive tumor to envelope the entirety of his stomach. Realization set in my family, and I would spend our last few minutes with him, each with tears, expressing all of the times we took his time for granted. I wish I could go back and see him one more time, regardless of how long it would be. The Vet technician gave us a nod, and we all said our final goodbyes. My mother stayed to watch them euthanize him; her love for him was like no other, and she wanted to be with him as he passed away. Afterwards, we all came together to get in our car and drive back home.
Even though his life was cut short, we all cherished Dash for his kind personality and gentle ways. His presence always lit up anywhere he was as if he were an angel sent from heaven. I believe that he was the generational kind of dog, one that only comes around once in someone's life. I will be forever grateful that I was fortunate enough to experience life with him. As I grow older, I question why he was taken away from me so soon, but it's taught me a valuable lesson about life. Good things must come and go. If you do not experience heartbreak, you would never know how powerful love feels. At a young age, it shows you that you have to take the good with the bad. Every morning when I wake up and feed my bird, I look at the box where his ashes reside. It gives me a strong sense of connectivity with my loved ones and reminds me to cherish them and not take their love for granted, because you never know when someone's last breath will be.
Kindred Spirits
Personal Narrative by Marlene Zenil Lopez, WHS Junior,
AP English Language and Composition
You may have been asked the question: “Do you believe in spirits?” I would always say no because they aren’t real, right? Throughout my childhood, I didn’t believe in spirits, but since I’ve gotten older, that perspective has changed.
I come from a Mexican household which means my parents believe in many different things and, one of those beliefs is that there are good spirits like our loved ones who passed away and bad spirits that want to "take you" which I didn’t believe until unusual things were happening to me and my family when I was little.
When I was seven or eight years old, I was with my older sister in her room late at night. We were watching a show together on her phone and eating Hot Cheetos. She had her door propped open, which set a scary mood because it was dark in the hallway. While an ad popped up on her phone, we looked up from the screen at the same time and saw a dark, tall figure walk fast past the door. My sister and I looked at each other, making sure we didn’t just imagine it. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly open in shock. I think she saw me and saw that I was about to cry in fear because she told me we should continue watching our video to get our minds off it, and just try to fall asleep. I had a hard time falling asleep, but she made sure I fell asleep first before she could.
After a restful sleep, we brought it up to my mom the next day. We described the figure as a male who was almost taller than the door, and my mom said, “Tal vez sea tu tio.” I was very confused by this, but I found out that one of my mom’s brothers had passed away before I was born. My mom said that the figure in the hallway that my sister and I saw was my dead uncle. I didn’t believe her because I was so young, but more unusual things kept happening.
When I was in middle school, my little sister and I shared a room. One night, we were up late watching YouTube when we saw the kitchen light turn. It scared us, and we stayed as quiet as possible for two pre-teen girls. We could hear someone grabbing, maybe a snack or something, from the kitchen, and then heading back to a room down the hallway. My sister and I, too afraid to seek out where the sound came from, again comforted one another and fell asleep. In the morning, my older sister asked who was in the kitchen last night because she heard someone walk past her door and turn on the kitchen light. At the time, my oldest brother was home during college break, and we thought it could’ve been him, but he denied it, saying he was asleep the whole night. That's when I started to believe my mom. Tal vez sea tu tio. It was our uncle.
The phenomenon did not stop there. So many things would occur to my family while I was in middle school. For instance, my mom, while doing laundry one day, said she heard my sister and me in the bathtub giggling when we were actually in our room. When I was at school, I would hear my mom’s voice when I knew she couldn’t be at school with me.
One time, my dad was watching a horror movie about the Mexican folklore figure La Llorona, which means the weeping woman in Spanish. She was a woman who got married to a man and had two boys. When she found out her husband was cheating on her with a younger woman, she took her two children to the river and tragically drowned them. Once she
realized the tragic outcome of her rage, she drowned herself seeking her children. My dad said that you could hear her weeping the words, “Mi Ninos”. Her ghost was rumored to take the children of parents who lived near water. My middle school self was terrified because we lived near water, in fear that La Llorona would come for me.
That night, after we finished the movie, it was late, so my parents went to bed. I went to my room and stayed up basically for what felt like two hours until I heard what sounded like a woman crying. My body froze, all I could hear was my heavy breathing, the fast beat of my heart like it could just burst out any moment from fear, and the low but loud cries of La Llorona. Tears slowly streamed down my face, and my quiet prayers, hoping for my uncle to protect me from getting taken and never seeing my family again.
The next morning, I opened my eyes and smelled eggs cooking in the kitchen. The morning rays brightened my room. “I fell asleep,” I remember I said to myself as I got up from the bed. I went to the kitchen and saw my family eating breakfast. I hugged my mom and went to sit down, not mentioning the cries I heard during the night, thinking I scared myself and imagined it, or had a nightmare.
Lastly, another incident involving my deceased uncle was when I helped my sister find our cat outside late one night. My sister's boyfriend and our little sister were also with us. We were all spread out in different areas around the house. I heard a voice that sounded like my older sister calling my name, but it was weird because she was saying it in a low, calm voice, and it was behind our neighbor’s shed, near the woods that surrounded our house. My “sister” kept calling my name, telling me to “come here”. I reached the side of the house near the corner where I could see the front porch. The eerie voice coming from the woods spooked me, and I “booked it” for the front porch and into the safety of our house.
When I got inside the house, my parents were in the living room watching TV, and my older sister was in the kitchen, standing up, holding our cat. An utter shock and fear ran through me, and I think my sister could tell because she asked me what was wrong. I didn’t say anything at first, but after a few seconds, I told her I heard her voice behind our neighbor’s shed. She looked a bit confused but also scared since it was so late at night and there was no way one of my family members would pull a prank like that. We didn’t check what was actually behind the shed, but my older sister’s boyfriend said it was could have been a Skinwalker, creatures that shape-shift into someone you know or an animal to let into your home or lure you by yourself out into its grasp. This terrified me, and I developed a fear of being alone in the dark. In contrast, it made me a huge fan of horror movies and scary stories.
I don’t know much about spirits, but I know one thing from my experience: good spirits and bad spirits do exist. Ever since I encountered these possible paranormal experiences, nothing much has been happening to me, and all I can say to that is, “Gracias tío, por protegerme durante toda mi vida.” Thank you, Uncle, for protecting me throughout my life!
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The Legacy of 'Scape
Personal Narrative by Gabe Foreman, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
First cars, they really do find a way to latch onto your heart no matter how busted or slow. My first car chose me in January of 2023. A 2005 stick-shift Ford Escape. I bought this oil leaking "mom car" off my uncle for a whopping $200 cash. I didn't know it then, but this death trap would bring some of my fondest memories as a teenager.
The “Scape”, as we called it, was a vessel for connection. All my friends signed the bumper in paint pens and spray-painted the rims purple. We hung a chicken Joe tapestry on the roof and decked out the dash with LEDs. Sometimes I can still smell the scent of Pina Colada flavored air fresheners that hung from the rearview mirror and hear Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldier” screeching through the busted speakers.
` The first 'Scape tale that comes to mind is the first time my friends and I took it on the real road alone. My parents had taken a trip for the weekend, so we got the bright idea to take it out on the open road. We went to the strip of road beside the railroad to see how fast we could get it. It felt like going into hyper-speed, breaking the sound barrier. As we began to slow down, the headlights shut off. So, here we were on a back road with no lights in the middle of the night. I thought to myself that if I stalled out, I most likely wouldn't be able to get the car started up again. Following my friends' advice of “ stay between the trees,” we made it back to the neighborhood where we rolled into my driveway and sputtered the engine off. We laughed out of relief for about five minutes.
Another tale is when my friend was tasked to drive my brother to school and drop him off. We drove the 'Scape but noticed that we were bouncing up and down as we drove. My buddy looked out the window to see the rim of the tire scraping the ground. We pulled around to the bus parking lot to take a look. The scissor jack that came in the car was not big enough to change a tire. Unfortunately, we only came to this realization after about thirty minutes of trying to use it. After coming up with every stupid idea we had to get the car up, including using ratchet straps and trying to deadlift the car, we gave up. We weighed our options on what to do and concluded that we shouldn't go to the middle school for help because they were testing, and we would be “soft” if we called someone for help.
So my friend looked at me and said, “Wanna walk?” I grabbed my backpack, and we were on our way. We talked about everything under the sun as we walked down those backroads, contemplating career paths and remarking at the scenery. We even started picking up trash from the side of the road. After about four miles of walking, coming up to the turn onto Slatestone Road, we heard the infamous “whoo whoop” from a police car. The school resource officer had come looking for us. We hopped in the SUV, slightly defeated, and rode back with him to the middle school parking lot as he lectured us about not asking for help. When we got back to the school, the custodian helped us change the tire.
From the outside looking in, you're probably thinking, “You guys are stupid.; why not call for help?” Because that's not the 'Scape way. Sure, it would've been easy to just get help in the first place, but I wouldn't trade the conversations my friend and I had on those backroads talking about life for anything. I think dealing with it on our own made us better friends and better men.
The Escape wasn't just another engine with wheels; it had soul. This spirit that came with it was a force that bonded friends through trials and tribulations. With every stall out and speaker crackling, a memory was made that strengthened our group. The death of 'Scape was a sad time, but if I've learned anything from that car, it's to not be sad because it's gone, but smile because it happened.
This is not just a story about a car, it is a thank you to a memory-making machine.
RIP 'Scape 2005-2025
Something Lurking in the Woods
Personal Narrative by Trey Hudson, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Conposition
Every year my family used to go camping at my grandparents’ farm in Pitt County. The trip was always a highlight of the winter and was something we looked forward to once it started getting cold outside, but this year felt a bit different.
Once my family and I arrived at our usual spot and began setting up the tent, I noticed the wind eerily whipping through the woods surrounding us. With every hard gust, it scattered dead leaves all around the area of our clearing in the woods. Despite the unsettling feeling, we started to settle into the familiar routine: put up the tent, start a fire, and enjoy roasting hot dogs over the campfire. Those hot dogs were delicious and made my family very tired from the journey. So, we would put out the fire and start toward the tent to settle down and fall asleep in our sleeping bags, say our goodnights, then try to fade off to sleep.
Suddenly, the sound of leaves rustling around and twigs breaking under the feet of a large animal broke the silence. This caused the realization that something was moving around us, and it was dangerously close. I huddled closer to my family, looking for comfort and reassurance that it was just normal wilderness sounds, but I soon noticed they were just as terrified as me. I tried to get back in my sleeping bag and go to sleep, but I could not shake the feeling of being watched. It is a scary feeling knowing that something is out there in the darkness, just outside the thin tent walls.
The night was unbearably long, filled with the indescribable fear of the predator creeping through the woods around us. Finally, the glow of the morning sun broke above the forest surrounding our camp. Once the sun was fully up in the sky, my family quickly broke down our campsite and we booked it home as fast as we could.
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“Emily Added You”
Personal Narrative by Mario Hernandez, WHS Junior, AP English Language and Composition
On April 4th, 2024, I experienced the most memorable day of my life. Now, why so memorable, you may ask? Well, let's start from that morning.
I began my day as usual: I woke up, checked the time, and stretched. I then read my Bible and went to refresh myself in the shower. As I returned to my room, my phone flashed, a Snapchat notification appeared in the center of my screen. This was a little out of the ordinary for someone like me. I don’t typically receive any notifications, and especially not from Snapchat. I hurriedly opened the app in excitement about what it might be, and there it was, a simple message that read “Emily added you.”
I almost dropped my phone on the spot, I could not believe that a girl had added me. I immediately ran to my mother's room and screamed, “someone just added me, and it’s a girl from my school!” Before my mother could respond my sister butted in “Which girl?”
“It’s Emily, the Chinese one,” I exclaimed. “Should I accept?”
No one answered. After a long pause, my mother finally muttered “Sure.”
“OKAY!” I said in such excitement.
I ran back to my room and then, shakingly accepted. She sent a "snap" right away, and I hesitated for a moment before opening it. It was a picture of the ceiling, “Okay, what a weird way to introduce yourself,” I thought, but nevertheless, I sent a reply with a picture of my face. And not even a minute later, she responded. This time, I didn’t hesitate and instantly opened the snap. At last, it was an amazing photo of her face. Her smile was brighter than any ray of sunshine, and her eyes more dazzling than any galaxy in the Milky Way.
Alongside this Picasso-worthy portrait, a message saying, “What are you doing?”
I closed out of the Snap and sent a reply, “I am about to go to the zoo with my family, and what about you?”
Ten minutes went by and no response, “Did she really get tired of me that quickly?” I aked myself. I closed the app and set down my phone, “Surely I wasn’t that boring to talk to, right?” I muttered to myself. I started rethinking the words I said, “maybe I was too direct” or “maybe I wasn’t direct enough,” but while overthinking, my phone vibrated and a Snapchat notification appeared. It was Emily again. Should I open it? I asked myself, “Well, of course,” I thought, and without a second thought, I opened the Snapchat message, “Oh, I am hanging out with some friends today at the park.” “That’s a little weird,” I thought to myself. She always struck me as an introverted person with not many friends. Nonetheless, I paid no mind and replied with “well have fun” , something simple but yet effective, I said to myself. By this time, it was 10 am and my family was ready to leave for the zoo, so I double snapped and said that I was leaving and wouldn’t be able to reply for quite a while. She never replied to my snaps until two hours later. By that time, I was already at the zoo, in the middle of watching the chimpanzees. As I pulled out my phone, I noticed a new snap from Emily. “I’m bored, wanna FaceTime?” it read. My heart skipped a beat. A FaceTime call? With Her? I excused myself from my family, claiming I needed to use the restroom, and found a quiet bench. I took a deep breath and tapped the call button.
Her face filled the screen, even more radiant than in her snaps. We talked for hours that day, about everything and nothing. I learned about her dreams of becoming an anesthesia nurse, her love for animals, and her fear of needles. She learned about my passion for soccer, my obsession with eating, and my terrible sense of humor. The zoo faded into the background as I became completely engrossed in our conversation.
That day at the zoo wasn't just a trip to see animals; it was the start of something special. It was the day I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected connections can lead to the most unforgettable moments. And it all started with a simple Snapchat add from Emily.
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Washington High School 400 Slatestone Road Washington, NC 27889
Washington High School 400 Slatestone Road Washington, NC 27889
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