Cole Burkhardt
speaker
840 appearances
5 recordings
1 series
first heard May 2026
last heard 7 Sep
Cole Burkhardt’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
Trend
recordings per month · last 12 monthsRecordings per month over the last 12 months — 5 in all, peaking in Sep 2026 with 1.
Appearances
I was crouched in a cupboard,
sharing a room with a potential killer, but for some reason, all I could focus on was that book.
It was not a catalogue of her crimes.
It was so much worse and so much better.
Her eyes stand over the pages, and her lips moved soundlessly until finally, she pulled back, wrapping her right hand around her left wrist.
The crack was like a gunshot in the near silence of the abandoned classroom.
It echoed off the walls and made my stomach lurch as I examined the professor's wrist, twisted at an unnatural angle that made the bump of bone push up against her skin towards the ceiling.
But I barely had time to register the shock before I witnessed something entirely more gruesome.
I could feel the slow, steady beat of my own heart as I watched Hicks push her hand down, down, down, until the sharp cut of broken bone protruded through her skin with a wet, tearing sound.
It wasn't even splintered.
The break of the bone was clean when she grabbed it and began to pull.
Watching her made me intimately aware of my own hands, my arms, the way Stinn sat atop fragile flesh and
I watched her pull the bone out of her arm and set it on the desk next to her.
She dipped her fingers again into the open wound when she was finished, and began to pull out more, different pieces of herself, not bones, but other things that I wanted
desperately to understand and name and study.
She did it with such clean precision, and I watched with rapt attention as she placed things on metal trays or in glass tubes that sat balanced on the larger cart.
I don't know how long I sat crouched in that cupboard, but by the time she was finished, my knees and hips were aching.
But I still mourned the loss when she eventually bandaged her own arm, washed her hands, picked up her book, and wheeled the cart with her new collections out of the room.
I eventually forced myself out of the cupboard, my feet filled with the pins-and-needles sensation of having lost too much blood flow.
I looked around the classroom and noticed that she had left her sketchbook still open on the table, now splattered with her own blood.
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