Ziggy hadn't felt this euphoric since the last time he was in a meat wagon heading for the padded rooms of the Sheppard Pratt funny farm on the morning he had discovered the consequences of overdosing on Ecstasy wasn't really all that glorious.
He stretched and rolled over to his right side on a filthy narrow bed and stared blankly at the closet door in front of him. The late morning sun was beaming into the bedroom, and Ziggy was sure there were rainbows stuck in the glass of the window and unicorns couldn't be too far behind. He didn't even have to look. The sheets felt pleasantly fuzzy and the pillow was particularly warm and welcoming.
He was happily contented, sure that this would be a great day - though he couldn't recall why. He got out of bed and adjusted his boxers so that they hung awkwardly on his skinny frame a little higher than where they were. There were four steps to the door of his manufactured home.
"One skippy dippy. Two skippy dippy..." Ziggy counted the steps to the door. There were three more to the door of the bathroom. "One skippy dippy...." It was a compulsion. He counted his steps everywhere. In fact he could probably draw a map of his life, in equal measures stepped off many times.
Two steps from door to the toilet. Two steps back to the door. Three steps to the door to the kitchen.
In the kitchen he lost count of his steps because he was at his destination. He grabbed a bag of chips and last night's dip. His heart was light as a feather, and he swung back and forth eating his chips for breakfast while he made some coffee.
Breakfast is still breakfast, even if it is early afternoon, you know.
He put some fresh coffee to making, and rummaged through the chest-high pile of mail and papers on the counter. One of these papers was important, but he couldn't remember which one.
He tossed some corn flakes into a bowl and added nearly-rancid milk to the mix, and continued his breakfast as if it were the best ever in the history of mankind. Ziggy followed up with a hand full of vitamins and supplements, and washed them down with deeply dark coffee, hot and bitter just like life itself.
Beyond the kitchen was a living room, which featured three items - a rocking chair, a television and a litter box for the cat. Mystic hadn't yet made an appearance this morning, probably waiting for Ziggy to come into the far bedroom (office) to start the day's mental gymnastics. Ziggy slumped into the rocking chair and started a rhythmic motion while he ate his corn flakes. Mystic pawed his way into the room, and sat aloofly between the rocker and the television in order to await the master's. The entire day was his after all, so a few additional minutes of waiting for the human to finish breakfast was no big deal.
Ziggy didn't want to start watching television. Today was a good day, and he didn't want to bring himself down with newscasts or gossip shows or bad movies. He couldn't remember why, but today was supposed to be a great day!
The dregs of the corn flakes went to Mystic on the floor by the rocker, and Ziggy went on into the office with his hot coffee. Eight steps to the chair behind the desk. The office sported a desk and chair, and a couple of other tables piled high with clutter. A window sat in the center of all three exterior walls, but the blinds were drawn. He sat in his office chair and put his feet up on the desk. This was really living, man! Master of his domain and all that was inside it. He drifted to a point of almost sleepy and set his coffee on the desktop.
"Are you ready for today?" The voice in his head was as clear as the crystal morning outside.
"Yes, master." Ziggy rolled his eyes inside his eyelids, enjoying the delicious morning moment.
"Are you prepared?
"Yes, Lord." Ziggy felt for his coffee cup and slurped a big sip while his eyes were still closed.
"Is there anything left undone?"
"No, My God. I will do whatever you ask."
The voice in his head seemed pleased, but Ziggy didn't like the way it sounded like the voice was rubbing its hands together.
"Get dressed and stand outside. We will see you shortly."
Ziggy counted his steps to the bedroom and pulled on some jeans that were dirty from working under the mobile home, a t-shirt that was a size too small, and some sneakers that smelt of bare feet. He danced a few steps around the bedroom when he was fully dressed, fancying himself an old-timey Hollywood black and white musical opposite Gene Kelley.
He danced his way to the front door without counting steps, and tapping the door closed, Ziggy swayed down the steps and out into the yard.
The tall grass was delicious under his feet, and he threw back his head to the eager Sun, dancing in a circle around the weeds that marked his lawn.
There was a vibration and a light, and Ziggy found himself inside a craft. He looked around with interest, and smiled again. His Lord had welcomed him back into the realms of light. He would soon have forgiveness!
And was waiting for him, her golden curls pulled lightly back behind her shoulders, and her lovely fresh face looked as though she was the embodiment of Springtime itself. She gestured toward a heavy blanket on the floor in something that seemed a hallway. "Please rest."
"Thank you, Ani, but I cannot since I am so desirous of the will of God here today."
"But you must. Please."
Ziggy sat down and then laid down with his head toward the nondescript bulkhead or wall or whatever it was in this space he was in. "Like this?"
"As you like. I have a surprise for you!" And stepped around a support beam and came back with a long sniper rifle, and handed it to Ziggy like it was eggs for breakfast. "Do you remember?"
"Sure! This was my weapon in the service of my country."
"Can you show me how to use it?" Ani's head was tilted down but her eyes were steady on Ziggy's.
"Sure." Ziggy started an evaluation and found the weapon's ammunition clip in the blanket, and in a few moments was totally in what Ziggy called his 'sniper mode'.
Whether he had actually served as a sniper was irrelevant. Whether the ammunition would kill was irrelevant. Ani watched Ziggy settle his weapon next to him.
Ziggy froze in place just then. Every muscle was strained and into his head flew images of an enemy. These enemies were taller than tall, white like paper with shaggy heads of hair and very large blue eyes that were too wide. Ziggy gripped the weapon, and laid down on the blanket. This had been rehearsed many times. This time he could feel adrenaline building in his system, and his breathing was a little sharper. His body felt alarmed, the hairs on his neck perking up. He knew what he had to do.
"Try to focus. This is not training. You must do well." The words echoed in Ziggy's head as the wall in front of him dissolved.
