Wishful Dreams

It was a never-ending view so inviting any onlooker would have been persuaded that it was an optical illusion allowing them to see the mysterious lands beyond the horizon.

If it wasn't for that glorious anomaly, this world could have easily been a pristine Earth.

Gemma adjusted the power in her gravity boots so she could rise and see even further.

Then Graham started snoring.

A quick poke in the ribs and he stopped.

But it was too late. The beautiful dream would not let her back in. Once again the kitchen full of last night's washing-up lurched into her thoughts. The gravy in the plates wore mocking smiles and mugs clinked amongst themselves at a stupid joke they had no intention of letting her share.

So Gemma snatched up the nearest and hurled it at the window, which obligingly opened just in time. The crash of crockery on the patio woke her up... No, it was Graham snoring again. She should have been used to it by now.

There was nothing else for it, she would have to get up, make a cup of tea and take it out onto the patio to watch the sun rise.

This morning it seemed to be struggling as she sat back in the lounger and sipped from the mug that had been smashed to pieces in her kitchen dream.

Gemma pulled the smartphone from her dressing gown pocket to search "sunrise", only to discover that it was still two in the morning. So she switched it off and leaned back to doze.

Through the window of her catnap glowing shapes began to appear over the horizon.

'Oh good, they're back', Gemma heard herself murmur, though wasn't quite sure why.

The movement of the alien vehicles against the dark horizon was like a ballet. At least Graham's snoring wouldn't wake her up from this one.

A small craft, pulsating pink and yellow in turn landed daintily on the lawn. A spindly figure emerged and held up the palm of a three fingered hand in greeting.

Gemma reciprocated, 'Hi. Looking for some human specimens?'

Without speaking, the visitor might have been confirming her assumption.

'There is one snoring his head off upstairs,' she told the visitor. 'Won't be much use to you though. He's a useless so-and-so. Would never have married him, but back in those days there wasn't the choice.' As she heard herself speak, the craving to have at least a few years to herself grew more powerful. Oh that it could happen. After being married to a Jack the Lad who rapidly dwindled into a large lump of lard, the thought was too appealing for her to feel guilty about it.

The alien was gazing at her with diamond eyes, head tilted to one side as though interested.

'Oh, what's the point,' sighed Gemma, 'you're only a wishful dream.'

When Graham woke his first thought was to nudge his wife to get up and make some tea.

But Gemma wasn't there. The woman he believed to be part soul mate and part possession was nowhere in the house or garden. It was too early to go shopping, and bus passes weren't valid until after 9:30 anyway. She was 79 after all, so couldn't have gone far despite her many promises to leave him. She would have at least packed a change of clothes if she had, and their son was living in Canada, so she wouldn't be visiting him.

There was an empty mug on the patio. Gemma's smartphone lay beside it.

Then he noticed the circle of scorched grass in the lawn.

The horizon of the planet curved upwards, distorted by the dense atmosphere.

Gemma's pressurised suit allowed her to hang suspended above the jewel encrusted ground and be immersed in the glorious view.

Her new friends had promised her enough years to enjoy many more.

Until then, Gemma would not have believed that dreams came true. But then, she had spent most of her life living with Graham.