Tragedy in the blink of an eye

It started when I opened my eyes.

I saw a few cracks in the cream-colored ceiling. For a few moments, I thought about how they spoiled the entire composition of the uniform surface hanging above my head. Only then did I ask myself the basic questions: who am I? Where am I? What am I doing here?

The desired answers rang in my head like television news.

My name is Anna Filnicheva. I'm 25 years old. I'm lying in my bed. I'm a Russian teacher. And I'll most likely be late for work at my new school today.

This last comment hit me like a pin in the seat. I jumped out of bed and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed.

I don't usually run around the apartment like a cat with its tail on fire. I'm usually composed and punctual. I'm not late for appointments. I don't burn dinners. I don't get my mascara in my eye. I don't wear my blouse inside out. I'm characterized by high levels of discipline and responsibility.

But all these qualities strangely disappear when I need them most. And September 1st is precisely the day I need them more urgently than ever. Especially when I wake up fifteen minutes before the commencement ceremony.

I have no idea how I managed to get there without causing an accident. I burst into school like a bolt of ball lightning. The hallways were empty. All the children were already gathered for the ceremony. I fixed my hair, bit down on a broken nail, and with a fairy smile, I entered the auditorium.

It was dark inside. Only a spotlight shone on the stage, where a group of second-graders were reciting the occasional poem. Mothers and fathers sat in the audience with their children. In my mind's eye, I saw dozens of little ones who were to begin their schooling here today. I'd met many first-graders in my life. Frightened and nervous little people, refusing to say a word. Clinging tightly to their mothers' skirts and their fathers' trousers. Bursting into tears at the thought of being left in class with teachers they didn't know. They won't even notice how quickly school will fly by, and in the future, they'll long for the days when they could learn the alphabet in their classrooms. Just like me.

At the age of thirteen, I decided that my calling was to become a teacher. As a child, I loved educating my younger sister using my own, somewhat radical methods. In college, I was unrivaled in passing various exams and electives. Only one person could match me: my fiancé, Mikhail. The most wonderful man in the world and one of the reasons I decided to work at Primary School No. 1 in Beslan.

In the darkness, I could make out his silhouette. He and the other teachers were sitting in the front row, giving the frightened reciters encouraging smiles. Seeing him, I stopped worrying about my lateness. Everything would be alright now. I'd sit with him and start the school year in a good mood.

I clacked my heels to the front row and sat next to Mikhail. I immediately gave the principal an apologetic smile. She returned it with equal enthusiasm. She was too moved by watching her students perform to be angry at her late protégé.

Mikhail squeezed my hand lightly.

"You're late..." he whispered scoldingly. "

I overslept. That's after..."

"Shhh!" One of the mothers leaned over to our row and placed a finger to her lips. She gave us an indignant look and sat back down.

Mikhail smiled mischievously at me, and we both turned our heads toward the stage.

As I watched the little girl with red curls sing, I was suddenly overcome with emotion. I was truly happy. For perhaps the first time in my life, I didn't feel distressed. No worries tormented me. I was thrilled at the thought of a new chapter in my life. Anna, the teacher. Anna, the educator. Anna, the rock for a group of little ones who wrote in their notebooks: "Ala has a cat." Anna, the friend. Anna, the fiancée. Anna, the wife. Anna...

"My dears!" exclaimed the headmistress enthusiastically, now standing on stage with a microphone in her hand. "Today we begin a new school year. I hope that you will all try to broaden your horizons and develop your interests..."

Her words went in one ear and out the other. They were directed primarily at parents and children, so I didn't have to focus on them too much. Instead, I turned my full attention to the darkness that had fallen and to the few sounds that occasionally disturbed it.

People shifted in their chairs, which creaked with every slight movement. A few infants burst into tears a few times. Someone sneezed, coughed, or sniffed, but no one spoke. Everyone was intently absorbing every word that fell from the principal's lips.

I looked out the window, where the sun's rays were resting. "What beautiful weather!" I thought, "Just perfect for the start of the school year!"

And then that sound reached my ears.

I knew it well from movies. It had resonated in them many times.

The sound of gunfire.

I jumped in my seat. Had I misheard? What was that? I looked around the room. It had been too quiet to miss the sound. People were as disoriented as I was. The principal paused in her speech and listened intently for a few seconds. However, when she heard nothing suspicious, she began speaking again. "

Welcome to our group, dear first-years..."

Shouts echoed outside. The woman sitting behind me whispered something to her husband. A few people shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

Gunshots pierced the uneasy silence again. This time louder and closer. Now I was certain something bad was happening. There had been gang fights in the area before. Could it be this time too...?

Bang. Gunshots. Screams.

Mikhail and I exchanged surprised glances. He shook my hand, trying to reassure me, stood up, and headed for the door to see what was happening. I heard footsteps coming from the hallway. Several people were approaching the auditorium at lightning speed, exchanging shouts and stamping their feet.

"Mikhail?" I whispered, terrified.

But Mikhail was already standing at the exit. Along with several other brave men, he opened the door and peered out into the hallway. I heard him shout,

"What's this supposed to mean? Please get out!"

I glanced at his back. Everything will be alright, he'll handle this, I thought. Everything will be back to normal soon. In a minute, he'll be sitting next to me again, grinning in a heartfelt smile. In a moment...

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire rang out from behind the door.

I jumped up. My heart stopped. My breath caught in my diaphragm. I had no idea what had happened. I stood there, pressing my hands to my mouth. I didn't know what was happening. A second felt like an hour.

I stood there and watched as Mikhail froze and slowly sank to the floor. Red stains appeared on his shirt.

He was gone.

Mikhail?

Mikhail, where are you? Are you okay? You'll get up in a moment and wave at me with that boyish smile of yours. And everything will be alright...

Terrible screams reached me from the distance. People were screaming and running in all directions. Children let out terrified screams and ran crying toward their parents. Gunfire and shouts echoed in the background.

And I stood there. I couldn't move. I couldn't utter a sound. I felt myself shaking with fear. Cruel thoughts began to flash through my mind.

Mikhail was lying on the ground.

He was dead.

Someone had attacked us. Terrorists. They were shooting. They were killing. They would stop at nothing.

Driven by my own despair and fear for Mikhail, I moved forward. Slowly, dragging my legs weighing half a ton with each step. People jostled and pushed me in the general chaos. I approached the door. I couldn't believe my eyes. A blockage formed in my mind. I refused to acknowledge the images flashing before my eyes.

I saw blood. A sea of ​​blood spilling across the floor. And among it were a dozen stiff bodies of men and women.

And Mikhail.

My Mikhail, his eyes wide open, lay right in front of me. He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. His entire torso was drenched in blood.

He was dead.

I suddenly felt myself being brought back to reality. It was as if I'd been somewhere else entirely. The screams and gunfire became real. I began to realize the physical pain I felt every time someone jostled me. I let out a desperate cry.

No, this can't be happening, I thought. I don't believe it. This must be some nightmare.

The attackers fired warning shots into the air. The bullets lodged in the ceiling. The armed men shouted something in raised voices. In the general confusion, I managed to hear a few words: "Don't move. You are hostages. You will die if you try to resist."

People stopped running in panic. They stared in horror at the terrorists and the dead bodies of those who, just minutes before, had been sitting with them in the audience. One of the men aimed his rifle at a crying girl with red curls.

"Shut up!" he roared shrilly. He shot upward, and the white plaster that fell to the ground was drenched in blood. "From now on, you are our hostages. If you don't do as we say, we will kill you. You must remain silent!"

Silence fell over the hall. I felt my head spinning. I leaned my face against the wall and closed my eyes. I couldn't think of anything. I wanted so badly to sleep and rest then. It was all too much for me.

One of the terrorists turned towards me. He walked up to me and yanked my arm with all his might.

"You all come with us!" he shouted to the crowd. He pulled me towards him and, still crushing my wrist, headed down the hallway and toward the gym.

My head was filled with emptiness. As if someone had erased my mind, memory, and consciousness. Instead, there was only a vast, blank spot. I couldn't think. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. I vegetated. I froze like a computer attacked by a virus. What I saw shook me to my core, causing a numbing shock. I couldn't recover. In that moment, I didn't even have the strength to desire it. Everything human had been emptied from me. I was like a package from which the contents had been removed. My brain didn't register the images I saw, as if I were an unfeeling movie camera with no cassette inserted. As a camera, I wasn't recording. As a human, I felt absolutely nothing.

Those several hundred other people felt exactly as I did. Adults followed the terrorists, mesmerized. Children were too shocked to cry. Several of them had just witnessed the death of their fathers and mothers. It was the first time in their lives they had experienced such violence. The first time they had seen so much blood.

Too terrified to shed tears, too shocked to scream in despair – children who were supposed to start a new school year today in joy.

I didn't realize how much time had passed. I only remember that at some point, a few dormant thoughts began to stir in my head. Like a heart after resuscitation. At first, they were single sounds and monosyllables. Later, I began to distinguish sounds and words. Finally, I managed to understand the entire sentence:

"Terrorists attacked the school. Snap out of it, you're a grown woman!"

It felt like I was waking up after several days of sleep. But in reality, my eyes were still open. Only now did what I saw reach my dormant mind.

I was sitting on the floor of the gymnasium, my head resting on the monkey bars. I wasn't alone. Around me, several hundred children and adults crowded together, as numb with fear as I was. They sat motionless, their eyes following the few terrorists who circled among them, rifles in hand. An eerie silence reigned. No babies cried, no one moved. I could hear the slow breathing of the child sitting next to me. It was a girl. The same one at whom one of the terrorists had aimed a rifle earlier.

She couldn't have been older than eight. Her eyes were extraordinary—an eerie green, now wide with fear. Her round face was framed by a storm of red curls. The sight of her made me want to cry.

Through the fog of incomprehension, the terrible reality began to sink in. The truth of what had just happened at that school caused me excruciating pain. But I couldn't wait to think about it. I knew that if I didn't think about it now, I would never be able to.

I slowly began to organize my thoughts. One by one, I recalled the tragic events that had taken place today. I struggled to process them as if they had actually happened. I had to repeat everything to myself several times.

It was September 1st. I was at the school's commencement assembly. Terrorists attacked our school. They burst into the auditorium and started shooting at those who resisted. They killed them. And with them, Mikhail. My Mikhail.

Suddenly, I started crying. I didn't want to make a sound. Instead, I was shaking violently. I covered my mouth with my hands and pressed my face against the wooden ladders. I closed my eyes, tears streaming from them.

For the first time in my life, I didn't know what to do. I was completely helpless. Mikhail wasn't there to hug and comfort me. He lay dead in the auditorium. His face flashed before my eyes. White as chalk, covered with a few specks of blood. I saw his eyes wide open and his mouth parted, red liquid dripping from it.

I clenched my fists tightly, digging my nails into my palms. I wanted to howl with despair. All I wanted at that moment was to scream and shout, to let out all those emotions. Along with Mikhail, I lost my heart. I no longer had anyone to live for. I felt as if someone had ripped my soul out and thrown it in the trash. I was empty again.

The little girl sitting next to me must have felt the same way. When she saw me crying, she turned her green eyes toward me. I saw fear, despair, and incomprehension in them. I realized these children had no idea why all this had happened. Until now, they had only been punished for their own transgressions and misdeeds. And now they were all asking themselves: why are these people killing? Why are they hurting them? What wrong have they done that they must suffer so much? Why have they been subjected to such cruel punishment?

I realized that these were the questions I could have been asking myself as well. The sight of all those little children who had witnessed so much violence today sent another wave of sadness through me. Why children? Why were innocent children the terrorists' primary target? How can people be so cruel?! Have we become so much like unintelligent animals?!

Rage welled up inside me. If I had been braver, I probably would have stood up, walked up to one of the terrorists, and hurled at him a string of the worst curses I knew. I wanted revenge. I wanted to pay them back for what they had done. I wanted to beat them all.

Kill them.

But I was too afraid. I didn't want them to kill me first. I was a simple coward, too concerned about my own safety than the lives of others. I couldn't bring myself to commit such an act of courage. Mikhail would have surely done it. If he had lived.

I looked at the red-haired girl. She stared colorlessly at her small hands, turning them in every direction. They were covered in blood. Was she injured?

No. She wasn't. I remembered that as I watched Mikhail lying on the ground, the child was kneeling next to the woman next to her. The girl had touched her face, snuggling against her bloody chest. This woman had to be her mother.

I couldn't understand it. How could anyone be so cruel?

I reached out to the little girl. I took her hand and squeezed it. I immediately remembered how Mikhail had done it, moments before his death. He was my support. If he were with me now, I would be less afraid. And how many children are there who have no one to lean on? For most of them, there's no one to stop them from being afraid.

The girl looked at me sadly. Her eyes were empty, as if she felt nothing. She had already given up. She had seen her mother die. The shock she experienced must have been even greater than mine. Suddenly, I felt a pang of guilt. I was only worried about myself. I thought only of my own feelings and fears. And yet, I was older and more mature than all these children. At least I could guess why we were here and why so many people had died so far. The children knew nothing. And they were far more afraid than I was.

I put my arm around the little girl and pulled her close. If I could help in that moment, it was the only way. To let her know she wasn't alone. The girl clung to my side and buried her head in my shoulder. The tiny piece of stone that had been weighing on my heart had fallen away. It was the least I could do. The least...

Sometimes I managed to glance at my watch. I was afraid to make any movement for fear of being noticed. Time moved at its own pace, oblivious to any clocks. Some hours dragged on like days, and others passed surprisingly quickly. I no longer knew what to do. The terrorists were staring intently at everyone in the room. They still carried rifles, ready to pull the trigger at any moment. I saw one of them recording the entire scene. I grew increasingly terrified and exhausted.

When I didn't have the strength to check the time, I tried to guess the time by looking at the sky through the small windows near the ceiling. I saw the sun set and night fall. More and more grim thoughts tormented me.

Slowly, I began to accept the thought that I might die. That everyone might die. Deep down, I preferred being murdered to living without Mikhail. But I refused to give up so easily. I couldn't let myself simply perish.

I was deeply afraid of death. I was afraid of the pain one feels when one dies. I was also afraid of what would happen to me once I died. I didn't want my soul to simply disappear. Because what had I achieved in life? Nothing. I had fulfilled my greatest dream – I became a teacher, but nothing more. I had contributed nothing to humanity. I was simply one of those gray, unnoticed citizens. One of the many millions of women who stood out in no way. I was a nobody.

My head began to nod. I leaned her against the ladders and tightened my arms around her small body nestled against my side. She was sleeping. But her sleep was uneasy. I felt her tremble with every sound, even the slightest.

I so desperately wanted to have my own child. I couldn't wait for Mikhail and I to marry and bring a host of tiny human beings into this world. And now...

Another memory of Mikhail caused me immense pain. I couldn't bear the thought that he was gone, that I would never see or touch him again. That he would never smile at me in that characteristic way of his again. Mikhail was gone, and I couldn't accept that fact.

I'll never forget how we met. At university, I was the best in my class. I always passed all my exams and examinations with straight A's; studying was no problem for me. I didn't worry about the competition, because it was usually others who envied my achievements. This continued until I saw the semester results on the notice board. I couldn't believe it, but my name was only second on the list. Mikhail had taken first place. From that moment on, I began to study even harder. I couldn't let some arrogant boy take away my title of best. For almost six months, Mikhail and I engaged in a fierce competition for the best scores, breaking every record possible along the way. We both received high scholarships and won awards from the country's president. But we never met face to face. I'd imagined this meeting many times. I thought that when I met him, I'd tell him straight to his face what I thought of him, and that, utterly devastated, he'd leave our university. Then I'd get my beloved title back. But everything changed at the graduation party for my first academic year. I vividly remember the shock I felt when I met my eternal nemesis. Contrary to my expectations, he wasn't a small, pimply dwarf with glasses and braces. He turned out to be a tall, well-built man with blond hair and blue eyes, indecently charming and funny. And who, in a single evening, managed to steal my heart.

I no longer had the strength to cry, even though the despair that flooded me from within would have allowed me to unleash the worst sobs of my life. For the first time, I was placed in a situation I couldn't handle. Although I should have been clear-headed, negative emotions prevented me from thinking rationally. I could only sit with my arms folded and wait for the end to come.

I couldn't distinguish one hour from the next. They were all the same to me, because absolutely nothing happened in them. We had nothing to eat or drink. We were allowed to go to the bathroom occasionally. The children drank tap water. We were also not provided with any medicine. Those injured in the attack had to endure the pain, and whenever they tried to complain, the attackers put rifle barrels to their heads as a warning.

On the second day, the terrorists released about 20 people, mostly mothers with infants in their arms. I noticed the other children looking at them pleadingly, as if to say, "Please, take us with you!" At that moment, I completely lost hope. It hit me that we had no chance of being saved. If anyone were going to save us, they would have already done it. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a dog lying near the entrance to the gymnasium. I realized that this time the police wouldn't be able to use tranquilizer gas, as they had done at the theater in Dubrovka two years ago. We were doomed.

For almost the entire last day, I'd been thinking about my certain death. Over the past three days, I'd slowly gotten used to the thought and decided that since I had no reason to live anyway, I'd rather die. But I felt like crying every time I thought about those several hundred little ones facing the same fate. After all, they still had so much life ahead of them. They'd finish school, start families, and raise their own children...

I hugged the red-haired girl tighter. She looked at me with resignation. Then I realized she was thinking the same way I was. Even though she was so little, she already knew she would die here, along with me and hundreds of other people. A sudden cry shook me. I covered my face with my hands and sobbed silently.

It was so unfair. So terribly unfair...

And then I heard the sound that had started it all: gunshots.

I stopped crying immediately. The others froze in silent anticipation. Something was happening outside. There were explosions, gunshots, and screams. Then we heard running sounds from the corridor. Someone was moving very quickly towards us.

Somewhere inside me, a faint glimmer of hope appeared. Help! But someone had come to save us! We would survive!

The door burst open. I groaned softly. Standing on the threshold was not a heroic soldier, meant to rescue us, but one of the terrorists. He was wounded, blood seeping from his side. The glimmer of hope vanished as quickly as it had appeared. I immediately connected the dots. The military wanted to storm the school. They attacked the terrorists. Hence the gunfire. Immediately, another terrible thought struck me. We'd lost. Now they're going to kill us all.

The bloodied man shouted something quickly to his two companions. I couldn't understand what he meant, but I began to guess from the tone of his voice. One of them ran out of the room, while the other stayed. He and the wounded terrorist picked up something and walked toward the center of the room.

Bombshell—it flashed somewhere in my mind.

Sensing I had nothing left to lose, I screamed,

"No! Don't kill!"

Everyone immediately realized what was happening. From all sides came pleading cries, emerging from hundreds of childish lungs.

"Don't kill! Don't kill!"

But it was too late.

Instinctively, I gathered the little girl to my chest and turned with her to the wall.

In a split second, my entire life flashed before my eyes. One by one, I saw vivid images that had been gathering in my head for the past 25 years. My fifth birthday. A vacation in the mountains. Playing with my parents in the snow. My first day of school. My final exams. My university entrance exam. My doctorate with an A+, and finally, Mikhail placing the ring on my finger. I distinctly heard the words he'd spoken.

"Anna, marry me."

Finally, I closed my eyes.

For the last time.

Everything around me was white. There was nothing in sight. Nothing but white space.

Where was I?

Had I died?

I was lying on the ground. I felt no pain, even though a second ago it felt like I was being torn to pieces. I had no wounds.

I stood up and saw the same little redhead who had been snuggling into my side for the past two days. She was sitting next to me, her knees drawn up to her chin. The first thing that struck me about her was that her gaze was no longer so colorless. Quite the opposite. A playful sparkle danced in her green, cat-like eyes.

When she saw me standing, she smiled at me and asked,

"We died, didn't we?"

I didn't answer her. I wasn't sure what to say. Were we really dead? If so, where are we?

I opened my mouth to answer when a familiar voice spoke up behind me.

"Yes. You died."

I turned sharply, even though I knew exactly what I would see.

Mikhail was standing there.

Clear, tangible. Dressed just as he had been when he died. There were no wounds on his chest. He was here. Close, within arm's reach. Safe and sound.

"You're late," he said.

I wanted to answer him. But I couldn't. My voice broke, and tears filled my eyes. He's fine. He's standing next to me. He's been waiting here all this time.

Mikhail came to me and took my hand. With the other, he lifted the little one who had been staring at us with a smile. He squeezed my hand tightly.

"Don't cry," he said. "Everything will be alright now."

And only then did I believe it really would be.