The lighthouse stood on a rock that barely broke the surface of the sea.
It was called Smalls Lighthouse, and in 1801 it was one of the most isolated posts a man could be assigned. The tower was narrow, the waves struck it constantly, and landing a boat was often impossible for weeks at a time.
Two men lived there: Thomas Howell and Thomas Griffith.
Their days followed a strict routine. One man slept while the other tended the light. They cleaned the lenses, hauled supplies, cooked simple meals, and waited for relief that sometimes came late. The sea was always loud. At night, it felt close enough to press against the walls.
One evening, during rough weather, Griffith became sick. Whether he fell, collapsed, or suffered a sudden illness was never fully clear. By morning, he was dead.
Howell was alone.
He understood immediately what this meant. Keepers were sometimes accused of killing their partners. If a body was lost to the sea, suspicion followed. Howell knew that if Griffith’s body disappeared, he might never clear his name.
So he kept the body.
He built a wooden coffin and dragged it outside onto a small platform. He tied it there with rope, exposed to wind and salt spray, believing it was the only proof he had.
Days passed. Then weeks.
The weather worsened.
Storms battered the lighthouse. Waves struck the rock so hard the tower shook. The coffin began to move. In heavy wind, it knocked against the stone again and again. Howell tried to ignore the sound, but it followed him everywhere. He still had to keep the light burning. He still had to climb the stairs, clean the lenses, mark the hours.
He stopped sleeping properly.
The smell reached the tower. The ropes frayed. During one storm, the coffin cracked open. Howell saw Griffith’s arm hanging loose, shifting when the wind pulled it.
From then on, Howell believed the body was moving on its own.
He later said the arm seemed to lift and fall, as if signaling or reaching. Rational thought slipped away. He worked mechanically, afraid to look outside, afraid not to. He spoke aloud to the dead man, then stopped speaking at all.
When the relief boat finally arrived, Howell was barely able to respond.
The crew found the light still burning. The logs were kept. The duties were done. But Howell was shaking, confused, and terrified. He had survived, but something in him had broken.
He never fully recovered.
Afterward, authorities changed lighthouse rules. No keeper would ever again be left so isolated with so little support. The case became a warning, not of ghosts or curses, but of what isolation and fear can do to a human mind.
The lighthouse still stands.
The sea still hits the rock.
And the light still burns, but no one is left alone there anymore.
Cassiopeia was a queen who ruled a coastal kingdom in ancient times. She was known for her beauty and intelligence, and she took great pride in both herself and her people.
Over time, that pride turned into arrogance. Cassiopeia publicly claimed that she and the women of her kingdom were more beautiful than the sea nymphs, who were believed to be protected by powerful gods. In these stories, the problem was not that she felt confident, but that she compared herself to divine beings and spoke as if she were above them.
The gods considered this an act of disrespect.
As punishment, Cassiopeia was taken from Earth and placed in the sky as a constellation. She was seated on a throne, but the position of the stars means that for part of the year she appears upright, and for the rest she appears upside down. This was meant to remind her that pride can lead to humiliation, and that no ruler stays above others forever.
Cassiopeia did not lose her identity or memory. She remained conscious of what she had done and was forced to watch the world below without being able to return to it. Her punishment was not physical pain, but the loss of control and status she once valued.
Today, Cassiopeia is visible in the night sky as a W-shaped constellation. It is often used by astronomers and navigators because it is easy to recognize and stays visible for much of the year in the northern hemisphere.
The story of Cassiopeia is usually told as a warning about excessive pride, especially when it ignores humility or respect for others.
Atlantis was a powerful and advanced civilization described in ancient Greek writings. The earliest known account comes from the philosopher Plato, who wrote about it around 360 BCE.
According to the story, Atlantis was a large island located beyond the Pillars of Heracles, which are usually associated with the Strait of Gibraltar. The Atlanteans had advanced engineering, strong armies, and abundant natural resources. Their city was carefully planned with rings of land and water, canals, and impressive buildings.
At first, Atlantis was ruled wisely. Its people were said to be disciplined, intelligent, and respectful of natural laws. Over time, however, they became greedy and power-hungry. They began using their strength to dominate other lands rather than govern themselves well.
Because of this moral decline, the gods decided Atlantis should be destroyed.
The destruction happened suddenly. Massive earthquakes and floods struck the island, and within a single day and night, Atlantis sank into the ocean and disappeared completely. Afterward, the sea in that area was said to be difficult to navigate, filled with mud and debris.
Atlantis was never confirmed to exist as a real historical place. Most scholars believe Plato used it as a fictional example to show how a society can collapse when it loses its values. Others believe the story may have been inspired by real events, such as ancient natural disasters or lost civilizations.
Today, Atlantis is mainly remembered as a cautionary tale about power, arrogance, and collapse, rather than as a proven historical city.
Theories:
Mainstream academic view
This theory says Atlantis never existed as a real place.
The story comes from Plato, who used Atlantis as a teaching tool to explain how societies collapse when they become corrupt and power-hungry.
No physical evidence confirms Atlantis
Fits Plato’s habit of using fictional examples
Widely accepted by historians
Most popular “real-world inspiration” theory
This theory connects Atlantis to the Bronze Age Minoans, whose civilization was damaged by a massive volcanic eruption on Santorini (also called Thera).
Eruption caused earthquakes, tsunamis, and destruction
Minoans were advanced for their time
Timeline roughly matches a sudden collapse
Problem: The island did not sink completely, and the location does not match Plato exactly.
Geological theory
This theory claims Atlantis was located inland in present-day Mauritania at the Richat Structure.
Circular land formations resemble Plato’s ringed city
Area shows signs of ancient water and settlements
Fits Plato’s description of a large, flat plain
Problem: No evidence of an advanced seafaring civilization there.
Geographic-literal theory
Some believe Atlantis was located near the Azores, which sit on tectonic plate boundaries.
Region prone to earthquakes
Matches “beyond the Pillars of Heracles”
Some underwater features fuel speculation
Problem: No confirmed ruins of a lost advanced city.
Popular alternative theory
This theory points to the Bimini Road, a series of underwater stone blocks.
Looks artificial to some observers
Located in shallow water
Often cited in documentaries
Problem: Most geologists say it’s a natural rock formation.
Anthropological theory
This view says Atlantis represents shared human memory of ancient floods that appear in many cultures.
Flood myths exist worldwide
Early coastal settlements were lost after the Ice Age
Atlantis may combine many real disasters into one story
This explains why the myth feels familiar across cultures.
Highly speculative
This theory suggests Atlantis was a technologically advanced civilization destroyed by catastrophe.
Often includes ideas about crystals or energy
No archaeological evidence
Not supported by mainstream science
From the time I turned thirteen, Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, and later TikTok became a big part of my life. Bigger than I want to admit. I dislike how much time I spent mindlessly scrolling with no destination in mind, just an easy distraction from boredom, a dopamine hit with every scroll of the thumb. This was an addiction. I always knew it, but I never wanted to admit it. No one wants to admit they spend more time living in their phone than in their real life, but it’s true. My profile and the way I interacted with friends, that was me. It felt like my entire personality had to be digital.
Unfortunately, when you fill the boring moments of life with mind-numbing scrolling, you lose something very important: boredom itself. The reason you feel dull is because you aren’t bored enough. Because guess what happens when you’re bored? You begin to notice things. Gradually, you start to feel things again. You get inspired. When you are bored, you begin to do something humans were made to do. You create.
Whether it’s practicing music, dancing, painting, drawing, writing, crafting, sewing, cooking, decorating, or working out, all of these are forms of creativity and self-expression. I want you to know that the “childlike wonder” will come back when you let yourself live outside a screen.
Unfortunately, we live in a time where it isn’t realistic to throw away everything digital. I use my devices for banking, DoorDash as a side gig, paying rent, music and audiobooks, YouTube tutorials, and more. Obviously, yes, I could probably figure out complicated loopholes, but you understand what I’m saying.
What I am trying to do this year is make sure I control my devices. My devices do not control me.
I am not perfect. I spend so much time on Pinterest I can’t even talk about it. Pinterest doesn’t drain me like other social media does. It usually leaves me inspired, but sometimes I use it with no actual goal, and that’s the issue.
I deleted Snapchat and TikTok in 2025. In 2026, I deleted Instagram and Facebook.
That leaves me with YouTube and Pinterest. I do have a private Twitter account that I use to stay informed about politics, but I rarely use it. It isn’t addictive to me, and I see it more as a news outlet. Here’s something interesting though: after you delete social media, your screen time can stay the same. You may find yourself scrolling through photos, emails, or old text messages instead because your brain is having dopamine withdrawals.
At that point, it becomes bigger than social media. It becomes a phone addiction.
Here’s what I do to help with that (again, I’m not perfect):
I downloaded an app called Ascent. You can block Reels and YouTube Shorts, so even though I have YouTube, I don’t just doomscroll. It can also block websites if you tend to use the web for social media. I love this app.
Make your phone boring. Reset your home screen to the generic wallpapers your phone comes with. Delete apps you don’t use. Delete unwanted photos and upload the important ones to a laptop. Try using a digital camera more.
On YouTube, I only subscribe to creators I actually watch consistently.
I do well with numbers. I like running with a time tracker. I use Duolingo for the streak, and keeping track of how long I’ve gone without social media motivates me.
I’ve found that I’m much more imaginative, motivated, and creative now. I still struggle sometimes with spending too much time on my phone, but I wanted to share my goal with everyone.
I don’t care that Snape still “loved” Lily. In fact, I don’t believe he truly loved her at all. Lily had moved on, built a life, and then died. Are we really meant to believe he couldn’t let go of that? What he felt reads far more like infatuation tangled with guilt and regret than genuine love.
Snape chose the Dark side. That was his decision. Yes, he eventually defects, but that doesn’t erase what came before. And if he truly regretted those choices, why did he spend six years bullying Lily’s son at Hogwarts simply because Harry resembled James?
Snape, maybe if you’d chosen differently in the first place, things would have been different.
If his feelings for Lily were rooted in love, why couldn’t he forgive James after all those years? Why did that bitterness survive Lily’s death? The answer feels obvious: he didn’t forgive him, and he took that unresolved resentment out on a teenage boy who had nothing to do with it.
You can’t claim to love someone while actively harming the person they loved most.
This isn’t a writing flaw on J.K. Rowling’s part. Snape is written consistently. The issue is how people interpret his confession. I don’t find it romantic. I find it tragic in a very human way. His obsession with Lily wasn’t love, it was unresolved guilt, grief, and self-loathing that he never healed. And instead of facing it, he let it curdle into cruelty.
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