December, 1953

01:56am

Tomorrow is the twenty-fifth.

I remember sitting by the Christmas tree when I was a child. I remember wanting a baseball signed by one of the New York Yankees. I had never wanted anything more in life than I wanted that baseball. . .until now.

I want more than anything to be free of this pain—of Hydra. I want to have all of my memories back; I want my life back. I don't want to be a killer. I don't want to be a heartless machine. I just want to be myself again. . .whoever that is. I don't remember what kind of man I used to be, honestly.

I remember being a soldier—a good soldier. But that doesn't mean I was a good man. Maybe I've always been a good fighter—nothing more.

I never did get that New York Yankees signed baseball.