Is it wrong if I kill him?

That’s what I wonder as I stand over him, knife in hand, while he’s fast asleep. I know for a fact my life would be better without him around. He’s so annoying, and not having to live with him would be bliss. Everything in my life is good except for the parts that have to do with him.

It’s all the little things that really bug me, that made me want to do this in the first place. The way he insists on eating McDonald’s every other night, just for the toy that comes with the food. And the endless fart jokes, gosh do I wish he’d shut up about that. And his taste in television is just sad. I wish I could go more than a day without Spongebob or Peewee Herman.

His voice really gets under my skin. When he isn’t singing off-key, he’s yelling and screaming and making a ruckus. Oftentimes, when I enter the room he’s in, he holds his arms out and yells, “Hug, hug, hug!” And he hits me when he’s mad, which doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, but I still wish he’d stop.

Plus, whenever I try to engage with him, he either doesn’t understand me or only likes the dumbed-down versions of all of my interests. He doesn’t like animation but kids’ cartoons. Not paleontology, but dinosaurs. Specifically overly scary, featherless, inaccurate dinosaurs. Not xenobiology, but aliens. Specifically human-like, emotionless, invading aliens. He’s so stupid he can barely read.

He’s always playing games with his friends, so I never get to see mine. And he’s so clingy too. As kids become teenagers, they’re supposed to grow apart from their parents, at least a little bit. But he won’t take that, apparently. He’s so… childish. He acts and talks like he’s six. And even more so when he’s been drinking things no six-year-old should touch.

A nagging thought in my brain tells me this was a bad idea. I squelch it. Even if go to jail for the rest of my life for this, it’ll still be better than living with him. But then again, he is family. It’s bad to kill someone of your own blood, right? My thoughts go back and forth like this for a while. Standing over his sleeping form, the knife feeling heavy in my hand, I wonder to myself again:

Is it wrong if I kill my own father?

I decide that it isn’t.