She was a little chubby, shy, unable to stand up for herself

The cold November wind burns my face, sneaking under my collar. The first blizzard of the month has begun. I sit at the grave, the silhouette of a beautiful girl of about seventeen is visible on the monument. I take a plastic cup, pour and finish the rest. I look at the time: it's already half-past nine in the evening. When I look at the road, I see two silhouettes. It is Pasha and Vitek. The second bottle of vodka is opened. I can see that I am being carried under the arms - I thought. We pour the white one into plastic cups. Forgive us, Tonya Ivanova. Forgive us, the evil bastards who mocked you and brought you to the line of no return. On August 9, a schoolgirl jumped down from the fifth floor. She was a little chubby, shy, unable to stand up for herself. The whole class mocked her, and more importantly, we four monsters.

After her funeral, strange things started happening. As the janitors told us: then moans, then creaks, then somebody's footsteps appeared in the empty school at night. The watchmen changed every time, because they could no longer stay in that room. Their nerve could not stand it. Soon it was closed altogether because of the quarantine.

Epidemics and spontaneous fires broke out in nearby houses. Drug addicts, drunks, or vagrants who entered the empty school never left. Near Tony's grave things were going badly, too. Sometimes the cemetery keeper would hear crying in the cemetery at night, when it was already closed. Some drunks were poisoned by the fallen booze and froze right at the grave. More than once priests came, but they could not do anything. They told us to pray for her innocent soul. But even in church they don't burial vows for suicide victims.

Soon it came to us. Pasha's parents died in a car accident. A huge concrete slab fell on them from a KAMAZ and crushed them to death. Vitya's young sister burned to death from cancer overnight. A healthy young woman. Tonya came to us in nightmares. Kolya was the first one who could not stand it and shot himself with his father's carbine. Maybe that was his way of redeeming himself and stopping the chain of misfortunes.

And now we are standing at the grave of the victim killed by our behavior, praying for forgiveness. If we can reach it by morning, we can rest for another year. Next November someone else will die, someone else will die.