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It's March 16, 1988 in Rengoon, the capital of Burma.

The young woman cycles down a narrow back alley,

her wheels splashing through puddles left by a recent monsoon.

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a thousand angry voices chanting in unison

rises above the corrugated iron rooftops and hangs in the air like an electric charge.

The young woman's heart rate quickens as she follows the rumbling noise.

She turns a corner onto a tree-lined road where thousands of demonstrators are marching

with signs bearing pro-democracy messages. The crowd is mostly students like her, young people

angered by the corruption and violence of Burma's socialistic dictatorship.

The young woman abandons her bicycle and joins the demonstration, lending her voice to the spirited

cries for democracy and freedom. She follows the flow of protesters onto a bridge over a lake

where a line of military vehicles forms a menacing blockade. As armed soldiers square up to

the front line of protesters, there's a sudden screech of times. The young woman spins around to

see a fleet of police fans have appeared behind the demonstrators, trapping them on the bridge.

Officers and riot gear start pushing and shoving the students who suddenly have nowhere to run.

Then a single gunshot rings out and a protester crumples to the ground, dead. Chaos ensues as

the demonstrators panic and try to escape the bridge. But within seconds bullets fly through the

air as the officers start firing indiscriminately into the ground. A dark tide of blood courses over

the concrete of the bridge. The young woman joins a frantic crush of fleeing students, but the police

fans block them in, forcing them back with batons, assault rifles and tear gas. Her eyes stinging,

the young woman is left to wonder if their dream of a free Burma will ever be achieved or if it's

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