I feel like this is a safe place to confess. She’s somewhere in the Miami canal. I don’t get too close, but sometimes I drive slowly on the highway just to see if everything still looks… the same. The water level has dropped a bit. That makes me nervous.
I haven’t slept well in months. I still hear the sound of the impact some nights. It was quick. I don’t think she even saw it coming.
I changed jobs. Deleted my socials. Sold the car. I have an escape route planned in case things go wrong. I spend hours looking at the map. Colombia seems like a good option. Jungle, heat… no one asks too many questions there.
Nothing’s come up in the news. Not a word. That’s good. Silence is the only sign I have that things are still under control.
And yet… I keep thinking about what I did.
It was an accident. At least that’s what I try to believe.
2025-07-31 15:42:34
293
Noah :
Real case going on rn....real school... Is this a confession?
2025-08-01 03:42:02
0
mtx_ashtn :
notice how he didn’t say pov
2025-07-30 20:45:04
7949
Hu ރ :
thats kinda too specific ✌😭
2025-07-30 21:14:44
3038
Finnegan rudkin :
bro that's my high-school
2025-07-31 19:10:47
0
X_EL🔄🏈 :
Real school and real ongoing case rn btw
2025-07-30 22:05:55
7173
conflictingideologies :
actual context of this clip btw
2025-07-30 22:36:20
519
Riles :
this happened to me last week
2025-08-01 06:31:04
0
nin ₉⁹₉ :
I know most people in the comment section are just playing around, talking big about killing, skinning, torture, all that edgy internet noise. But I’m not like them. I don’t joke. I am a killer. A real one. And not the sloppy kind that ends up in a headline. I’m surgical. Quiet. Precise. I don’t do it for anger or revenge. I do it because watching someone unravel, watching that last flicker of hope leave their eyes, it’s beautiful. It’s…art. And the best part? I’ll never be caught. I’m ten steps ahead of everyone. Cops, feds, even the wannabe detectives online. I see them. I read their theories. All wrong. Every time. Because I’m smarter. Smarter than all of you. This isn’t a cry for attention. This is a statement of fact. And trust me, when you finally realize who I am, it’ll already be too late. I am a real one, hiding in plain sight.
She’s under an old oak in Greenwood Cemetery, section C, row 19. I marked it with a fake bouquet—cheap plastic roses that won’t wilt. Cops never look where the dead already rest. It’s been ten months, but I still flinch when I hear the sound of shovels entering dirt.
2025-07-31 18:58:43
1
Brandon🇦🇷 :
thats my school.
2025-08-01 03:34:31
0
gabeiamdareal1 :
I don't think they are kidding anymore
2025-07-30 22:33:14
1
Jojoo :
chat is this a confession..??
2025-07-31 22:43:31
1
Jaxon Nelson :
Fr bro this my high school
2025-07-31 14:54:31
3
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