The alley was dark, and my blood was gushing with the rain into the ditch beside me.As I clutched my stabbed stomach and leaned against the moldy wall, my white T-shirt now dyed a crimson red, I realized there was no stopping the bleeding.The stab was deep, and I could feel the knife twisting against my intestines.Even so, I held on to the black microchip, which held evidence of a drug lord whom my father, Gus James, had hunted for three years.I went undercover for three years to get my hands on this, flirting with the worst of humanity, and even suffered from cirrhosis from boozing with them.And now that I got it, I didn't think I was getting away.I could hear shouts and footsteps of the cartel members outside the alley, searching.I reached for my phone, my trembling fingers leaving bloody fingerprints, and called the only contact I kept pinned to the top which read 'Father.'It took a long while until he finally answered, and I immediately heard cheerful voices singing
Magbasa pa