I look at the shiney golden ticket in my miniscule hands.

The fog from the train clouds my eyes as I experience nostalgia from watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as a kid.

I board the train that acts as a time machine, hoping to be able to find myself exploring my desired destination.

1987, the first Palestinian uprising.

I smell the air in Palestine, but it is not fresh.The smell putrid and full of chemicals from bombs dancing and gliding on rooftops.

Screams from children deafened me as I walked to find the one person I came to visit.

The screams get quieter as my heart moves faster.

The taste of salt, so bitter on my tongue, as I witness a beautiful woman being hauled away by a burly built soldier.

Her hair is like mine. Thick and curly.

Her eyes are like mine. Ligth brown orbs that sparkle gold when the sun rises.

Her right cheek and chin dotted with one beauty mark each, mirroring mine.

I have always been told I look exactly like my mother when she was my age.

The screams begin to suffocate me again.

This time, they are the screams of my mother.

These screams are somehow louder and more painful than the ones before.

After viewing the last of the black sky and destroyed houses, I decided it was time to step back into my privileged life.

The salt is back, and it stings as it falls down my cheeks.

Burning deep as it glides over the beauty mark on my right cheek.

My ears can no longer hear.

The screams were too loud.

My nose can no longer smell.

The chemicals were too strong.

The train jerks as I fade back into an ignorant world.

Although I am deafened and my nose is blind,

My heart never stopped pumping for the lives that were lost during this tragic time.