What you are about to read is what I remember from my childhood set against the backcloth of the Spanish Civil War. I was slightly over seven years old at the time. I would have preferred to set my childhood on a pallet of beautiful colors, but as a mere mortal, I could not choose where to be then. Destiny did that for me. This book is neither political nor religious. I am neither. It is simply a recollection of things I saw, heard, and felt. It may sound paradoxical, but because of this, my feelings have always been numb. Whether this is due to my psychological makeup or to the fact that I went through adversity at a very young age, I know not. I accept life as it is, the everyday merry-go-round of sweetness and bitterness. Circumstances taught me to expect the unexpected and forged the need for survival at all costs. Although, in my darker moments, I wondered if that need should even be considered. The events I relate happened mainly in Madrid, where I was born, where my brothers and sisters were born, and where my parents worked hard for a more rewarding life. Madrid where, during three years of agony and hope, the revolution changed my life forever.