We had only ourselves to blame, the sky had changed months ago, but we had been too preoccupied to notice. We had stared at our shoes and into each other’s eyes, and down the aisles of the supermarket, but when the clouds had disappeared and each morning was painted with an amusing shade of pastel gold, we were too deeply buried in each other’s beds or too transfixed with the glory of the television to have noticed.
Of course there were those who had tried to warn us, standing in the middle of town with their signs made of cardboard and fuzzy felts. We’d either ignore them or throw the leftovers of Greggs pasties at their backs, and occasionally we’d get some land in their pockets and do a celebratory lap of the Tesco carpark. It was fantastic.
It shortly transpired of course that they were telling the truth and our pasty flinging had merely sustained them while they rubbed our noses in it. The aliens had taken over the sky and had started to take us one by one so they could have a poke around in our brains. And then it emerged that our government had made a deal so that they could abduct one of us and have a bit of a probe, and then we could abduct one of the aliens and have a good old dissection ourselves. Even the Queen had been in on it the whole time and had enjoyed a probe herself, once or twice. The media said it was a fair exchange, so it was a fair exchange. I wasn’t sure personally, but I’d just purchased a Louis Vuitton handbag, so it was all probably fine.
We still didn’t look up at the sky, there was little point in doing so, not now they’d started emailing the pictures straight to our phones.