Wicasta was born in Kings Mountain, North Carolina “sometime in the mid 1900s”, to no particular fanfare. There were no meteors in the sky. No prophecies fulfilled. Just another screaming human added to the biomass. Except when this one was still in the nursery at the hospital, he would cry until the other babies started crying. Then he would laugh. Not much has changed.

He was born to Peggy and Bob. You didn't know either of them. And if you did, you still didn't really know them. They've long since been lost to time. If you'd known either of them, you'd know this already.

There's not much else to add here. Wicasta showed his creativity at an early age. His mom often said, “He was drawing as soon as he could hold a pencil.” Everyone thought he would be an artist. Then he started writing. But eventually he became a musician. He's been looking for a way to combine all those things ever since.

We won't add anything else to this, really. This is for flavor. Wicasta hasn't done anything significant with his life. At this point it's mostly about surviving and waiting until it's his time to be flung into the abyss by the weight of age and time. He might do something worth remembering before he goes. He might not.

Last update by Wicasta on 06 May 2024