I had seen many things in my life, done many unspeakable acts to keep my family alive, to keep the mafia alive but at least I had a conscience. I wasn't completely heartless, even though five years of training and missions had told me to be. The scars and lives we had taken had made us strong, with the sheer force of pushing out the conscious in us, pushing out the weakness, the acknowledgment but some things just couldn't be removed especially if you had a home and a family. Especially when you had a line to defend, to protect even if it was with your life.
At this moment I felt like a failure to my very kind, I felt unworthy and desired to be young again. To remember what innocence was, to remember what it was like to see my mothers' smile, to remember the touch of my firstborn child. The fragile hands that had gripped my very finger with strength when born. I wanted to remember life, not death.
