All stories attempt to soften the truth. All the truths aim to be history. The facts dream of being just words that are diluted in the oblivion of time. It will be seen in this case that the truth claims to be history but only in the imagination. What I come to tell you happened in a land of peace where life was an indefinite article. In that place the seeds did well, the green stretched in gentle landscapes, the rice paddies ripened in time, the trees gained height, dry and raining seasons flowed in perfect synchronization; the rain poured joyous and blessed granting to the land varieties of beauty and abundance. But one day arrived unexpectedly the war. At the beginning we talked about a tribal war. What does a tribal war means in a country where eighteen tribes vying for the power? It means that bad boys compete for the territory, the men and the arguments. And also came along which I call "imperfection", others prefer to call it "vice" from the earth of Whites. So this story I'm about to begin will give me the opportunity to detail.