If you're reading this, then one of two things happened. Either I'm dead....or someone finally got curious enough to open the notebook hidden beneath the loose floorboard in my bedroom. I don't know which outcome is worse. either way this was a book given to me by my therapist apparently to " process my feelings through writing" yet i don't thing she meant this at all.
this isn't a story, its not a warning, its certainly not an apology. its the truth. Truth has a funny way of sounding like fiction when people don't want to believe it. Everyone in Ashgrove keeps saying the same thing."A monster is walking among us." The news repeats it every morning.The police repeat it every afternoon. The neighbors whisper it every night. Maybe they're right.
I knew the victim. That's what everyone wants to know first, isn't it? Yes. We weren't best friends. We weren't enemies either. We simply... crossed paths more often than either of us realized. Funny how people always think murder has to come from hatred. Sometimes it comes from something much quieter. Something that grows so slowly you don't notice it until it's already taken root. The detectives came to school today. They asked everyone where they were Friday night. I answered every question. I looked in detective Walker directly in my eyes. He thanked me for my cooperation. Then he moved on.
People think lies sound different than truth.They don't. The best lies are almost entirely true. Emma cried during third period. Jacob couldn't stop shaking. Mrs. Carter dismissed class early because nobody could focus. Everyone keeps trying to figure out who could have done something so horrible. It's strange watching people search so desperately for something that's already in front of them. I almost feel sorry for them.
Almost.
The candles outside the victim's house have already begun melting into puddles of wax. Flowers are dying and wilting. The news vans are multiplying and reporters are outside. Life keeps moving.
It always does.
I should probably introduce myself.
My name is Sophia. I'm seventeen years old, I make decent grades. I remember birthdays,return shopping carts, smile when strangers hold the door open,I also keep secrets. Some are bigger than others.
This diary is going to tell you every single one of them.
Whether you recognize them as secrets...is entirely up to you.
YOU ARE READING
Story Untold
Mystery / Thrillera story based in a small city in california, where heinous crimes are slowly unfolding yet not one person has discovered the culprit. theres traces with no leads leaving detectives stunned.
