A rat's tale

I was 6 when my brother John leaned across the kitchen table and casually whispered that he had killed Santa Claus. I stood at the table completely stunned, until I uttered the words "b-but it's mid June...". My brother, completely unaffected by this, says "yes, I know it's June, aside from that, Santa's lifeless blood-soaked corpse is lying in the foyer.". We sit in silence for a moment, I stare into my brother's eyes, shocked, and he looks back at me with this sense of complete disregard and carelessness. Sometimes I wonder how I'm related to him. In terms of animal matter, obviously, John is human. But, psychologically, I place him near fungus. I'm trying to process the gravity of what my brother just said to me. Him telling me that he had killed Santa "So, what do I do?" says my brother, still completely unaffected.

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