Article: 288602 of talk.bizarre
From: doering@xrayspex.nlm.nih.gov (Larry Doering)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: Duelling Authors:  William Faulkner and Stephen Coontz
Date: 1 Dec 1996 17:50:15 GMT
Organization: Zantop World Airways
Lines: 27
Message-ID: <57sggn$n80@lhc.nlm.nih.gov>

    "Ball, Hornet one zero seven, state 6.1," he called as the U.S.S. Carl
Vinson swung into view ahead, the implacable grey steel of its flight deck
centering itself in the combiner glass of his heads-up display as the 
immutable curve of his turn onto final approach ended and he eased the
throttles back.

    I dont know, he thought, the prisons within the eye's self showing
her face demure, pensive; tragic, sad, and young; waiting, colored with
all the vague and formless magic of her young desire.  It was on Saturday
this time, in the spring now.  She stood on the pier, waving as the
great grey ship pulled away.

    "One zero seven, roger ball," crackled in his earphones from the LSO
standing on the steel platform ahead, separated yet by a half mile of
space upon which the glideslope was superimposed like a line drawn there
by his mind's eye, thinking again I dont know as the ship came nearer
with the implacable gravity of a natural force, the meatball sliding
slowly below the datum line as the LSO called, "One zero seven, you're
low.  You're low.  Power.  Power.  Wave off, WAVE OFF, one zero seven!"
and the cut lights began flashing and still he sat thinking I dont know,
to be young there is nothing else like it, not advancing the throttles
as the greasy grey skillet of the flight deck came closer, closer, and
the curve of the ramp filled his windshield and he thought just before
the impact and fireball Caddy smells like trees


ljd