The Evolution of Dakota Graves

Blowing The Last Fuse

I punch Daxton in the low part of his jaw, he punches me in the nose, I grab my switchblade, he struggles to grab the blade, I lift my knee up to his groin, he rolls off of me, falling off the bed.

"How'd you get here?" I ask.

"I didn't know you were alive." He grumbles.

"Bullshit." I snap.

He grabs his knife. "We have unfinished business Dakota, you know that." He adds. I run towards him with the switchblade in my hand, he slams me against the wall, I headbutt him hard, causing my head to ache.

I clutch my head.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt, he grins. "Do it!" He taunts.

I shake my head, I force him onto his feet, if he was going to die, I want him to suffer.

I slam his head onto the drawer, he elbows me in the face, I stagger backwards, I let him get closer to me, then I shoved him against the door, he tries to stick his fingers into my eyes but I grit my teeth, he shoves me away, I kept punching him, until he fell on his ass.

I pull him closer to me by grabbing the collar of the shirt, throwing more blows.

Little bitch.

Those words branded into my mind as I kept punching Daxton in the face, the blood oozing through his nose.

Dakota, you're nothing but a mistake.

He inches closer to the door, I use the door, slamming it against his head as he laid on the ground. His pathetic screams corrupted my mind.

Oh my God! Kurt! Dakota you MONSTER!

He yells as I kelt slamming the door against his temple as his head was caught in between the doorframe and the actual fucking door.

He passes out, I drag his foot to the middle of the floor, I walk into the kitchen, dragging a chair back into the room Daxton is in. I close the door, then I open the closet, pulling out some duck tape, I put him in the chair, he's heavier than I thought he'd be.

I wrap the duck tape around him, then taped his hands, then I tied his feet to the legs of the chair. Payback's a bitch.

I grab my switchblade from the ground, I point it over Daxton's knee then I plunge the blade inside his kneecap, his eyes open, before he could scream I put my hand over his mouth.

"Screaming is just going to make it longer." I said grimly.

He pants, crying out in pain. I point it over his other knee.

"You will go from a tortured man to a crippled one if you keep crying." I said.

"Is....this what you want?" He asks.

"I want my sister back and a AK-47 in my hands but we can't get what we want can we?" I ask.

"What are you going to do to me?" He asks.

"Oh, you're still going to die. But I'm making sure you get what you deserve." I said.

"I....know....but you're no saint." He growled. I nod.

"You don't know what it's like to be abused, alone, unloved." He said.

I walk up to him, he could see the coldness in my eyes, he was looking for my sympathy.

"My Dad beat me to a bloody pulp every fucking night! He thought it would make me tougher! My own mother knew about this and she didn't do JACK SHIT." I yell.

"You took my sister, and destroyed the last bit of life I had inside of me." I growl angrily, balling up my fists.

"So boo fucking hoo, you're unloved." I said bluntly.

"You see how I never tell you anything about my life." I said.

"So take a hint-I don't give a fuck about yours." I add.

"Go fuck....yourself." He growls.

"So...what? We raped.....different people.....why is....she so....Goddamn important?" He asks.

"And you're a mess with or without her." He adds, as his face strains in pain.

I grab a handful of glass while he continues to talk shit.

"Do yourself a favor....and put a bullet in your head." He adds, I shove the glass shards inside his mouth, forcing his head back. I stare blankly at him.

"I'm a fucked up guy-I get that, but you had this coming, you fed my dead sister to these undead bastards, and you expect me to let you live, you'll keep doing this." I said, grabbing my switchblade.

He kept his mouth closed, the shards must be cutting the hell out of his throat.

"Don't. Cross. Me." I warn.

He headbutts me again, I stagger backwards, wiping my bottom lip, I stab him in the chest.

One violent stab leads to another, it's pretty hard. This wasn't one of those action movies when it's easy to stab, this was real. He coughs out blood.

I form my lips into a straight line, then I stab him clean in the head, my hands aching as I kept muttering words to myself.

"That was for my sister."

"That was for the women you've raped."

"And that's just for pissing me off." I add. I drag him to the window, I force his body out, letting it fall to where the undead stand. I grab all of my weapons.

I didn't feel anything after that. Not a damn thing.

I walk downstairs, past the furniture I destroyed, the glass I've shattered. I've accepted the fact that I'm broken.

Alive on the outside.

I open the door, grabbing my gun as I open the gate, I kept shooting, praying that one of these bastards will take me down.

I run towards a car, climbing inside it, then I begin to drive off.

Any rational person would say I'm a monster, a indedent human being, a mess, fucked up, bat shit, unloved, risky, insignificant.
Insane.

And all I have to say is-they're absolutely right.