I was invited to a party held in the grounds of my fiance's university. We were circulating in the grounds surrounding her department as the sky darkened and champagne was distributed. The first puncture of our lazy expectation was a brightly-lit container spinning across the night sky. It disappeared, then reappeared, drew closer and plummeted towards the arboretum at the front of the university. A spaceship the size of an articulated lorry plunged into the pines, which creaked and snapped as the ship drove into the earth. Two more tall pines fell as a wall of flame erupted into the black air, illuminating the university and the faces of the lecturers and post-graduates, who stared, slack-jawed, at the flailing, burning bodies of the aliens as they attempted to disembark from the doomed craft. I couldn't tell if the Aliens wanted to join us. Maybe they wanted to invade Earth. It wasn't in the script. But even so, I couldn't tell if I felt good or bad. I think they buried the Aliens, but I don't know if anyone prayed for them.