Spencer Lucas Wilczewski

Born in a small cave on the edge of the Mojave Desert, I was kept in the dark for many years. I was raised by a nomadic race of giant moles, the mole people raised me the best they could. But as I grew it became clear to them that a dark cave was no place for me. I possessed a certain radiance even then that could not be stifled by the oppressive darkness of the cave. In my fifteenth year my surrogate parents reveled to me, my true origin. They told me of my true parents my mother was the sun and my father the moon. But not the one you see in our sky a completely different sun and moon like nothing you ever could imagine. My parents were constantly caught up in some sort of altercation or another, they were too preoccupied with their marital spats to deal with me so in my first year my parents abandon me, I was found by an Indian shaman, wrapped in a shawl under a large cactus. Though the Shaman wanted what was best for me, and he was very brilliant he knew nothing of children. So he scoured the desert searching for a suitable matron to care for me until I could care for myself. This is where the mole people come into the equation, the shaman knew of my birth and of my destiny, on a spirit quest he saw images of me in fine cotton t-shirts making pizzas in the woods surrounded by ravenous mouths. As my mole mother told me of this it became clear to me what I must do. So I set out on my own, wearing animal pelts I found along the way. Somewhere in Mississippi I was picked up by missionaries who fed clothed and bathed me for the first time in my life. They treated me well and wanted to help me find my way in life but I could not be held in one spot so I left in the night I fled north and woke up in a drained quarry, skeletons of automobiles punctuated the landscape. It was a beautiful place near the Ohio river, by the time I reached Michigan I developed a keen sense of smell, my teeth were sharp and so was my mind. I knew nothing of human emotion and the only customs I knew of were those of the mole people. Some how I managed to get a job tiling fields for a framer named Jeff, he gave me a shed to sleep in until I could pool together some resources and once again set out on my own, but before I could the farm was under siege by rouge pirates they burnt everything to the ground, but I tasted blood for the first time, I felt a new drive growing inside me swelling and compelling me toward a place farther north and a quaint little gas station tucked away in the Michigan wood when I arrived there was a sign on the window that said looking for a savior instead they got me, my first day I sold a million pizzas and pulled the entire economy out of a recession. But I was weary and my hands had been worked down to nub like stumps. As I dragged myself away from work the bleeding started again so I walked out into a field and laid down only to awake here. Staring at this screen.?