Late one night at the end of last month – an April night in which the scent of blood from the impending crackdown threatened to fill the air – a woman in her seventies made her way awkwardly through the crowd of demonstrators. She sat down among them before pulling out a bag containing a slingshot and glass marbles, which she had kept hidden underneath her top, to the delight of her aged friends sitting nearby.

I rushed over to warn her – emphasising the red leaders’ announcement that protestors were not armed. Spluttering out her answer in a panic, she said:

"But I’m not planning to shoot anyone, son. Soldiers are coming to get us tonight. These are for our protection."

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because clearly if the military was going to "reclaim the space" (the lingo of the day) that night, no amount of slingshot would be sufficient to provide this auntie and her friends with any protection. Unable to help myself, I burst out:

"Who cares? Right now, even when you have nothing, they’re still accusing you of being terrorists. What would you be if they saw you with your slingshot?"

That did it. The auntie went pale, her eyes widened like someone who’s just realized the enormity of her error. So hurriedly did she do as I said that she accidentally ripped the bag she was carrying, and the stream of glass marbles scatter onto the ground.

Right now, tonight, I have no idea where she might be. I can only hope and pray that her slingshot and glass marbles – if she still hasn't thrown them away – would help protect her from the barbarity of those that call themselves human.

Translated by May Adadol Ingawanij