SHOOT: Came across this exerpt today. I've made a few statements in my writing in the past that have been oddly accurate about future events. I once wrote a poem about metal being crushed and the next day, as I was hauled into an ambulance post car wreck, the poem made sense.
He closed his eyes and when he opened them again they were starting the slow arc of a downward spiral towards Palawan; the big Boeing was being buffeted by powerful cumulonimbus. He leaned over, a chemical dream still tinting his consciousness slightly, and he could see the wings shaking. He had never seen Boeing wings shake this much, and wondered how much they had been engineered to stand, surely not much more. White sheets of tropical rain pelted the windows, then the sun flashed the rain-silvered wings at him, and under them he saw huge brown scars, chocolaty smears raked into the green and yellow jungle of the island under them. |
clipped from authonomy.com
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