Didn't Need This
Suddenly we break out of the weather, and I see the runway a mile to our left, and ocean just as black as the cloud we had only just left right in front of us.
I started yelling, which is distinguishable from screaming only by the adjacent bass clef.
Then, with only a few seconds to live I decided to shut up and die like a man. Resignation and terror make an interesting combination.
The impact wasn't what I expected. We didn't hit the surface of the water so much slip through it, the black turning into cobalt blue as it surrounded the cockpit.
Which, of course, is the instant I woke up, heart pounding, adrenaline oozing from every pore, momentarily surprised that I was not both very wet and very dead.
We all dream, a phenomena odd enough in and of itself. Recurrent dreams are weirder still. Being somewhere public without clothes on and wrong place or wrong time for an exam seem to be two pretty common themes among those for whom being clothed and passing tests are important.
To those I add dreams about airplane crashes, which started years before I became a pilot, and have continued at about one a month ever since without one of them answering the fundamental question: what's the point?
Having never had one that killed me before, I can say one thing for sure. I don't need another.