Age 11; Russia, Moscow.

Dasha, Dashenka, Dashuta, Darya Yurevna…

Is there a person in our school who did not know this restless and untiring child?  She was a bright, kind, and sympathetic person.  She took charge of all class matters.  She was a tireless traveler and a curious and keen student with an enthusiastic and eager nature.  So many good deeds lay on her short path, and so many unfinished beginnings…

A child’s death is always terrible.  The death that caught Dasha was a thousand times more horrible.  More horrible because we were all impotent, we could not change a thing, we could not help in any way, we could not protect her…  More horrible in that there was enough health, energy, and ardor in this child for a dozen.  More horrible in that death summoned pain in hundreds of other children’s souls, and in the souls of people of all ages.  It seemed that this little person was very dear to very many people: her friends and classmates, and the classmates of her brother, her teachers, and the parents of many students in her school.

In 13 days our daughter was to have seen her 12th birthday.  Her pure and sonorous, bell-like voice has forever ceased ringing, and her tiny, yet huge, heart has ceased to beat.

But she lives.  She lives in our memory.  Dasha, Dashenka, Dashuta, Darya Yurevna…

Written by School #1505 in Moscow, Russia.

Death is a blind old woman, but when death arrives, it seems that it chooses the very best, those most dear to us…

I remember how on Wednesday, October 23rd, we had said goodbye to Dasha after coming back from Kostroma.  It was a cold and dark morning, but, as always, there was a warm and bright smile on her face.  I do not know what I was thinking at the time, but it was not about death.  That evening when I found out about the theater spectators being taken hostage I could not bring myself to think of the possibility that something bad could happen to Dasha.  In this big world she, little Dasha, still had so much to do…  Could it happen that among so many voices inside the walls of our school, that hers would be heard no more?

It seems that it could.

I do not know who is right, who is guilty, and I do not know what went on inside the walls and outside the Dubrovka center.  Let the wise men on television judge this.  For me it is very painful that Dasha is no longer with me.  Our school has gotten a “little bit” smaller without her, but oh how we miss this “little bit”!

I am very afraid that I will forget her face.  These days I often catch myself trying to reconstruct her features.  Even the very best photograph cannot transmit what a living face does – that feel of a person.  The feeling I got from her is always one of joy, and a cheerful, very kind sort of mischief, a never-ending desire to live and love life.  I want very much that none of us will forget her face, and that we remember her eyes and smile forever.

But still I wish to believe that now she is in that place that people call paradise, because she could not help but be there.

Written by Dmitry Kartsev.

She was too lively a person to not live.  Sympathetic and sincere…

O. M. Smirnova

Very lively, buoyant, and steady…

M. N. Shalimova

We should remember that we must always protect people…

G. I. Slutskaya

A person rarely cries.  In reality it is extremely rare that we pass through the pain of clenched teeth and spiritual pain, trying to overcome hopelessness.  The soul, dried out from its gallop through life, is more used to the almost daily reports of “other” tragedies, and so it is difficult to alarm it with anything.  Our everyday well being is almost impenetrable, but the news about what happened on October 26th stuck us all so hard that nothing more remained except tears.

When a person dies it is always a heavy blow, whether it is an old man or the incurably ill.  But when life leaves someone who has only just begun their trip through it, someone who still has so much to do, is yet to know happiness and disappointment, to discover love and make friendships, it causes a pain much worse than with others, and you feel an unexplainable feeling of guilt that you cannot shake.  How could this happen?  Why did they not protect her?  From where does all this evil in our world come?  One is tortured by belated, unnecessary questions that have no answers.

It was so on that day when Dasha left.  She was a bright little person, illuminated with joy and giving warmth to all around her.  Her friendly expression and spontaneous smile were able to warm the hearts of even the strictest of teachers.

Dasha, childishly serious and at the same time naïve and charming, was not a class leader and did not distinguish herself from others through brilliant successes in certain courses.  But she had that which many of us lack – human warmth and sincerity.

We saw her off, but it is difficult to get used to the fact that, in entering the classroom, we will no longer see that pair of eyes, luminous with kindness.  It is very difficult, and one cannot get around it.

But one would like to hope that the memory of Dasha is preserved not just deep in our soul, but is reflected in the fires of goodness in the hearts of all for whom her passing was not just another fact in the course of life.  And we will try to be more sensitive and gentle with one another, and try to increase the goodness around us.  After all, this is the best thing that we can do in trying to extinguish the evil, which, unfortunately, is in abundance in this world.

A. I. Molev

From materials in the school newspaper ‘Pugachevka 6’, 9th Ed.  November 6th, 2002.

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