This is a work of fiction. All characters found herein are property of author Jeff Lindsay.

SPOILER ALERT! Story contains crucial information regarding season 4's finale. Read at your own risk.

The story takes place 3 weeks after the events of Season 4.

Nature; what an interesting beast.

It has a funny way of remaining the same. Whatever form it takes, it neither feels or emotes. It is absolutely void of conscience and self-serves the ungodly shit out of itself. For once, I'd like to see something members of my species claim to be alive (not unlike a lizard) commit an act of selflessness not caused by some freak, cosmic happenstance that couldn't be explained away by elementary logic. Still there it is, in the water we drink, the air we breathe, the soil we toil and the beds we fuck on. Undying as the will of a people repressed – nature belongs to no one, but it certainly involves its selfish ass in everything, doesn't it?

Like oranges – especially oranges. In a word: Zest. To be precise, the aroma of zest. To be specific, the first upward cut with a 12-inch, diamond-coated titanium serrated blade into a bulbous and freshly picked-from-the-produce-pile orange rind. It spritz like life into the moment. Vibrant, aromatic and without aim; it's a bona fide slice of life. And to think, this is just the beginning! Suddenly, I'm willfully raped by an onslaught of nasal orgasms from broken and blended coffee beans to the soft crackle of bacon fat on a simmering sauté pan. "Don't forget the eggs, Dex." Harry was right about so many things. With the first precision strike of each egg's meager shell, I felt powerful. Invigorated even, albeit to a small extent, by the modest controlled destruction in my hands and its byproduct dripping helplessly between my fingers. As long as the murder is justified; Harry taught me that, too. Therefore, in the disfigurement of nature, I will find nourishment. Enriched and ready to begin the day anew. I am in good, natural company. Not a worry in the world. A veritable cocoon of refreshment in the infinite parched landscape of Dismal Desert Dexter. I do love breakfast.

What I do NOT love is breaking ritual. Unfortunately, phones don't answer themselves, and after all, normal people answer their phones when they ring, don't they?

"Hello?" I asked. I even threw a trace of fatigue in there. I looked at my watch. 10:30am? Yeah, they'd buy it. "That you, Debs?" Harry would be proud.

"Of course it's me, you fucking idiot. Were you sleeping? I've been trying to get a hold of you all morning!" My affable foster sister, Deborah. Tactful as the clergy on Sunday. "Well?"

I've known Debs my whole life. Well, most of it. I like to think I've adjusted myself enough to appease her, specifically, in any conversation. It's a tired fact that I don't play well with others. I have no sense of empathy and for that, conversation with other people can be disquieting and ultimately fruitless. Frustration is really the only human emotion I can relate to on a regular basis. Ironically, I aim to avoid it whenever possible. So it comes as no surprise that I couldn't conjure the emotional response Debs was looking for with her clever "well?" breakfast-curtailing curve ball.

I stammered briefly as my mental rolodex finally landed on an appropriate reply. "I'm sorry. Everything's just been difficult these past couple weeks. Really, really difficult." It wasn't standing ovation quality, but an applause certainly would not go unnoticed.

"No shit, Dex. It's been hard on everyone. What say you we grab lunch in thirty? I'm thinkin' Cuban."

"Can't. I'm having breakfast."

"At 11:30? Come on, Dex. I get that you don't want to go out, but it's me. Your sister. Sorry bro, you don't have a fuckin' choice. Let me take care of you." In all the social anarchy following Rita's death, I completely forgot about day-light savings! 10:30am was a stretch, but 11:30am?

"Sure. Sounds good. Relampago?"

"No. Pizza Hut. Of course, silly." She laughed a bit, "I better see you then."

"You will." After I hung up the phone, I was confounded by irrationality. A perfectly good breakfast gone to waste. I've never skipped my early morning nutriments, and I had absolutely no way of knowing how this would effect me the rest of the day. I suppose I could save it – keep it fresh in the refrigerator. But how? If only I had some saran wrap...