Prologue

"Malik! Malik!", a woman's voice shrilled. "It's 3 am and you'll lose your slot at Uncle Dong's". My body is still sore, and eyes are itchy. I reluctantly rose up from my wooden bed, still yawning, stretched my arms upward with my knuckles touching old sacks of rice under the old roof of our shabby house. As I wear my worn out slippers the woman's voice came out louder, "Malik! Are you deaf? How many times do I have to shout before you wake up?" I hurried to the small kitchen sink with a leaking tap wrapped around by strips of old rubber from Uncle Mag's auto mechanic shop. "Do not waste time if you don't want to go to school hungry!" "Yeah I'm up right? Can't you see?" I angrily replied after spitting the water I rinsed my mouth with. The woman slapped the back of my head saying "You still have the guts to answer back!?!? I have not even slept yet just to make sure we have money to pay Rahul because of you!" At this point, I can only think of leaving our shabby house as soon as possible and go directly to Uncle Dongs along with the other rider boys my age.

Then I got back to my senses and said "Mom, I need to go now and make sure I'm infront of the queue." I rushed to the door and did not look back. I did not even have the time to see to it if my mom heard me. Yes, that angry, shrilling, and annoying voice was my mom's. We have been living in bitter poverty for as long as I can remember. I am twelve now and I never met my Dad. Mom told me he went away for work in the military. Our neighbor's speculates that my Dad had a great career and had a new family too after leaving us in this depressed community of squatters living at the edge of a creek in between a market district and the high wall of an affluent community.

As I went out of the door with a large peace sign of the 70's, I reached for my old BMX bike with a small basket in front and started cycling in a really hurried fashion. My left eye's vision is a bit of blurry and the streets are still dark. "Hey! Watch out you little rascal!" I almost bumped into old man John in his old red robes holding coffee on his right hand and pan-de-sal on his left. "There goes that kid again rushing bikes at this early morning!" An old woman murmurred. The streets I roam is noisy and buslting with noisy carts that are loaded with vegetables from the nearby warehouse going to the market. The cart is made of odd wood planks from the Waste District with wheels made from repurposed wheel bearings with no rubber tires. Just imagine the noise as it grinds with the concrete pavement. You can hear murmurs fron merchants negotiating deals with the vendors as they prepare to open the market districts for shoppers.

Litters are everywhere and the whole place smells awful like rotten cabbages with wet streets due to heavy rain last night. I can now see the well lit store at the far corner of the road I am taking and saw that there are a handful of bikers like me in line side by side i front of the store. I moved my bike next to the leftmost guy and said, "Am I late?" " Oh yeah! You're lucky 3 of us did not show up." Said the guy beside me. "Otherwise you'd go back to your mom with nothing!" This guy is big, about my age but really tall and fat with a deep voice for our age. I don't know his name but we call him 'fatty'. He bullies me a lot but we're friends.

Uncle Dong's is a newspaper sorting and distribution business. At this time, the staff at the store are busy folding and rolling newspapers for us bikers to deliver to their clients. At this day and age, there are less people reading papers as internet has all the information you need. News, both fake and real; movies, series, and reels; all are at the touch of the fingertips or even voice commands. I have seen these gadgets on our neighbor's TV but have never ever touched then myself. One of Uncle Dong's staff handed me a bag of newspaper rolls but suddenly Fatty boxed me out, blocked me and took the bag away. "I'm sorry," he said with a grin in his face, " I need more money today. See you later, I'll treat you with unlimited congee." And rushed awat with his bike that had almost flat tires because of his weight. I was so furious that I could nor say a word. My eyes were starting to well up. I missed my chance to earn some money today.

"Malik, you're a lucky kid!" Interjected a man with thick glasses, on a black frame, his head turning bald, wearing a plain white t- shirt, his face shaped like an egg with thin, grayish mustache. He is wearing an old denim shorts, holding a multi-colored fighting cock on his right hand and a lit cigarette on his left. That is Uncle Dong, the business owner. Every on of us around works for him. He's kind but is kind of rough especiallt if he does not like you or what you are doing. Blowing smoke into his cock, he said "Stop crying! Are you a wimpy kid?" "I'm not crying! I'm mad because I don't know what to tell mom!" I insisted, " Hey, hey, I have a special delivery task for you today." Dropping his cigarette but and stepping on it, he toom something from a nearby table and handed me one roll of newspaper with a special ribbon on it and placed it carefully in my basket. "I received an order for new subscription from a house in Magallanes."

When I heard the word 'Magallanes' I could not believe myself. It is the village of the most affluent in the city with high walls that I can see from the top of our roof. I have no idea what it looks like but our neighbors said it is a village of the rich an famous with beautiful houses and mansions. "Hey kid look at me. The security there is so strict and you will have difficulty. Whatever they say to you just tell them, 'I have the paper for Mr. Lorenzo Bayani at the end of 25th street and I need to be on time', ok?" I nodded. I remembered Uncle Dee from the house nearby ours, who worked as a family driver in one of the houses in Magllanes, used to tell us stories that the guards there never smiles and that they have a big dog accompanying them each. "That's not a problem." I finally smiled and rushed off.

Indeed the guards were strict and never smiled. I was being asked to leave an ID but never had one aside from my dilapidated school ID that I left home. I just stuck to my script about the delivery for Mr. Bayani. Finally the guard agreed to let me in and asked me if I know where his house is given that the village is vast and the houses are not close by each other. Good thing Uncle Dong gave me an address and the guards gave me specific instructions on how to find the house. 3 hours has past since I woke up and i can see the sky starting to turn from crimson to blue. I finally found the house at the end of 25th Street.

I went down my bike and took the roll of paper from my basket and walked towards the gate. It was a tall green metal gate made of flat steel. As I was about to press the doorbell, I suddenly heard a creaking metal to my right. Apprently, there was a door at the gate and an old man came out. "Oh that must be my paper." He was an old thin but tall man in his 70s wearing an elegant nightrobe. You can tell from the way he looks that he is fit, stands up straight and no signs of deteriorating strength. "Good that you found my house early, most of my deliveries are either late or not delivered at all." He said while chuckling. I gave him the newspaper and was about to say good bye when he suddenly asked, "Where do you live?". I reluctantly told him that I live in the squatters are at the other side of the fence. "Life must be tough there, eh?" He said with an empathic voice. He reached into his robe pocket and handed me a small but thick book, about a size of a diary and said, "Here, I'm giving you a story book. Read it so you might forget all of your problems today." It was getting late and the sun is up. I still need to go back to Uncle Dong's for the payment of my service. So I quickly said thanks and left immediately putting the booklet on my basket and rushed off my bike. Whilst I was speeding through the quiet streets of Magallanes. I was really impressed how beautiful the streets there are. The roads are wide and there are a lot of trees. Each lot are spacious enough to have a wide wall with only the colorful roofs visible from the street. I was having fun strolling when I suddenly realized I no longer know ehre I am. There's absolutely no one outside and each of the gates are closed. Suddenly, i felt some sensation from my belly urging me to look at the booklet. When I looked at the booklet, it read, "Memoirs of Lorenzo B." Written in old spanish style script.

I did not know what really happend but suddenly I found myself under a large tree by a park just a few meters away from the pavement, sitting on the grass and about to open the booklet. On the first page, it reads, "To whoever reads this, will my power and strength be bestowed upon." I found it weird as to why would a first page of journal contain words something like that. As I opened the next page, that is where things became complicated between me and old man.