I had a very vivid dream this morning: I died because a (bad) person shot me (events took place in a High Street cloth shop at Guildford, UK).

At the moment of my death, I see a light and an angel. But here’s the kicker: the light is actually a lamp that is coming towards me slowly from the ceiling, and the angel appeared in a cheaply-made wooden elevator that also used a motor at the ceiling. If this is not my subconscious going sarcastic on me, I don’t know what is.