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His Struggle

Author's note: An unfinished biography detailing the dark life of Kristoph Gavin, ace defense attorney.
Author's note: An unfinished biography detailing the dark life of Kristoph Gavin, ace defense attorney.  « Hide author's note
Chapters:   1 2 3 4 5 6 ... 11 Next »


Up to this point, my life had been a constant struggle against humanity. I was born into a world that would have preferred if my existence never came to be. My mother was less than adept at hiding her regret that she had not given birth to a daughter, and my father, well…he just didn’t like anything. But I scared my parents. I came into this world missing a chromosome. At first, my parents feared that I would be mentally or physically impaired. This baffled the doctors. The absence of a chromosome seemed to have no bearing on my everyday life, but they warned my parents that its impact could manifest itself when I reached adulthood. Of course, this made no difference to them. I suffered considerable neglect at their hands, and my only sanctuary was the solitude of my mind.
School was the only real refuge I had, and I took pride in my academic ability. But in turn, I also suffered for my superior intelligence. As a small, short boy with apparent intellectual ability, I was an easy target for bullies. I would frequently come home bruised, battered, and bleeding. The only response my unsightly appearance elicited was a disappointed sigh from my crude, crass father who believed I should have fought back against them. With little other choice, I was content to allow my tormentors their moment in the sun. Society would punish them accordingly, once those simpleminded oafs entered the real world, where neither their brawn nor their lack of brainpower would assist them.
Through all the years, I took solace in the fact that, with my intellect, I would have a clear future once I completed my education in Germany. Although academic glory was satisfying, I lacked one thing I craved above all else: friendship. I was accepted by some of the other children only because I could help them with their homework. Once they had procured their answers from me, I was forgotten, left to sit alone while they began engaging in their reindeer games. When I was seven years of age, there was one boy whom I believed to be my friend, but in the end, it turned out that he, like the rest of them, sought only an easy way out of struggling with their homework. Angered at this betrayal, I revenged myself upon him by framing him for cheating on a test. Satisfied with his punishment, I proceeded with the dull monotony that was my life.
About a year after that incident, my younger brother, Klavier was born. At first, I welcomed this new arrival. However, it soon became apparent that he was to be more of a nuisance than a comfort to me. Prone to wailing incessantly at the most inopportune occasions, I grew to hate him, despite knowing full well that he had no control over his impulses. As he grew older, I began to envy and despise him even more. He was popular and charismatic, and my parents absolutely fawned on him. Though he was considerably less intellectually capable than I was, he was no fool. He could sense my animosity towards him, and tried to befriend me, but I pushed away his well-meaning advances. I didn’t need friendship, at least not from some glamorous fop whose head was full of foolish fancies of becoming a rock star.
It angered me that someone with such a mundane, artificial personality could be loved by so many. Out of pure spite, I decided to bring an end to his superficial existence. I had it carefully planned. When everyone was asleep, I would retrieve my father’s pistol from the top shelf of the bathroom closet. Then, I would shoot Klavier and throw the weapon out the window. Immediately after I disposed of the weapon, I would sneak back into my bed, feigning sleep and preparing to put on a convincing display of grief for my dear, deceased baby brother. I had full intentions of carrying out the plan which I had concocted, but as I grabbed the pistol, a seed of doubt entered my mind for the first time. It would be too obvious, I concluded. Too obvious who had done it and too brutal a crime for me to commit. I was above such brutality. Besides, he wasn’t so intolerable. A little empty-headed and a little self-absorbed, but he was still my brother. Shying away from my brush with malice, I gradually adapted to his existence, shutting him out with the rest of my family, doing my best to ignore the praise and adulation that I deserved to hear.
One day, my father was charged with domestic violence. He had come home the night before after an evening out with his coworkers. He had had a few beers too many, and in a fit of drunken rage, he had taken an empty wine bottle and smashed it over my mother’s head. My mother had been fortunate. In his drunken state, he did not smash it forcefully enough to take her life. His loss of motor functions had dramatically lessened the impact of the blow. There was minimal bleeding, and my mother was able to retain her life and her sanity.
Klavier and I had been excused from school to witness my father’s trial. The legendary prosecutor, Manfred von Karma was doing everything he could to convict my father of domestic violence. In my heart, I wanted him to succeed, but I could not help but admire the defense attorney, Justin Case. Though the defense attorney knew he had almost no chance of stripping von Karma of his perfect win record, he believed in my father’s innocence. He was a fool in that respect, but I was in awe of his skill as an attorney.
As I watched him argue the case with passion and purpose, I knew then that when I grew up, I wanted to be a defense attorney. As expected, my father was convicted of the crime. Mr. Case had argued his case well, and were my father innocent, he would certainly have gotten off. But as it was, there was undeniable and damning proof of my father’s guilt, and he was dragged away in handcuffs, protesting the verdict of the trial. I smirked as he was led away, disgraced by the hand of justice. Some day, I would be the one in the courtroom, arguing for a client. And I would win.
Chapters:   1 2 3 4 5 6 ... 11 Next »

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