Some years ago, I went through a period of repeating dreams. Every night, it would be one of two, but when I woke I could only remember brief “scenes”.
One was aboard a small sailing ship. I seemed to be an emigrant, dressed in drab grey clothes in the style of the mid-1800s. I was on the deck with a group of others and I witnessed my wife falling overboard, over the low rail, into the sea. With her heavy skirts and petticoats, she disappeared very quickly and was gone.
The other dream was from an earlier period. I was dressed in a fine embroidered waistcoat, white silk shirt, and breeches and stockings. I was fighting a duel with the rapier. I lost.
I remember the stabbing pain as the sword entered my chest, right through the heart, but strangely, I was most conscious of the itching sensation as it came out of my back, just below the shoulder blade.
I know that some people think that there is nothing as boring as hearing about other people’s dreams, but I don’t agree. Dreams are fun. The randomness of the storylines can be more creative than anything that writers can invent. And the scenery is much better than in movies.
Also, I have a little triangular white scar right over my heart. How did that happen?