GOD PUT A HIT OUT ON ME

I awoke at sunrise and rubbed my eyes. The eastern sky was a tall, tropical drink, full of maraschino reds, fiery oranges, and streaks of grapefruit yellow. I had the feeling it was going to be a great day. Best of all, it was the weekend.
I pulled aside the curtains, and watched a telephone repairman in white coveralls working high on the telephone pole near my house. He turned to me and glared.
I was feeling euphoric, so I smiled and waved. He didn’t smile back. In fact, the weird glow emanating from his eyes dissolved my grin of goodwill, and required me to take a second, careful look. He was barefoot, and there was no safety belt holding him to the pole.
An uncomfortable feeling began to bubble and boil like a cauldron in my belly. I zombied my way to the kitchen and began opening cupboards, shaking boxes and opening the fridge, looking for something to eat.
Moments later, breakfast in hand, I chanced another peek through the curtained window across the room. A garbage truck was parked out back, and two more men in white were elbow-deep in the coffee grounds, magazines, orange peels, and other refuse that validate our civilized society, having slashed open the bags with careless abandon. They stared back at me with the same glowing eyes.
Garbage men. Saturday.
I backed slowly away from the window absorbing this information, turning to see two more of them coming up the front walk, one of them carrying a long toolbox.
It was over that single mouthful of Cap'n Crunch that I experienced an epiphany, unfolding like time-lapsed footage of a blossoming rose; a gradually billowing explosion of sudden realization forcefully elbowing its way to the forefront of my thoughts, demanding an audience with my conscious mind, screaming at me, warning me of what I was too shocked to see for myself.
The telephone repairman and the garbage men picking through my trash were angels, and not your run-of-the-mill halo and harp holders. These were archangels; seraphim of the slaughter. Tapping my phones, examining my debris,.. how long had they been watching me? What a fool I have been. How blind.
I looked to my front door to see two of them standing on my porch. One of them lifted the toolbox to his waist, and the sides of it simply fell away. Exposed were a series of hissing black tubes, preceding what looked like a rifle butt, which he raised to his shoulder in a smooth practiced motion. Bringing his other hand up to support the business end, it slid toward me with an ominous click, eyes glowing.
God had put a hit out on me.