Dream of woke up, crash, dove

I often dream vivid dreams. Last night I was swimming in the ocean, alone, far from shore but with it still in sight. In the distance, a jet came into view. The closer it came to me, the more I could see that it was going to crash. Out of control, the jet ambled towards me. I had nowhere to go, no way to escape. I felt certain it was going to attempt a water landing with me in its path. I was left only to pray, and watch. It came closer and closer. Flying low, I dove underwater as it approached, fighting to go deeper. The plane squealed loudly as it skimmed the surface of the water above me. I could look up and see its belly scratching and clawing the surface above. The sound was deafening, a collective terrorizing shout of fear of the hundreds of nameless faces inside I could not see. As the plane skid past me, and with my lungs empty and crying for air, I fought with every muscle in my body aching to break back to the top and breathe again. I made it just in time, looking over my shoulder with weak but effusive pants just in time to see the plane bellow into the giant beachside hotel buildings, destroying them on impact with a deafening blow that echoed for miles. The anticipated explosion followed. I spent the next few minutes back underwater hiding and looking up as debris fell and tattered my surroundings forming a blanket that sought to drown me. Treading water moments later, the once peaceful ocean was littered and trashed with fiery scraps of metal, junk and torn body parts. I rescued a drowning boy and his sister. They were maybe five. Twins. Crawling onto the beach with the boy and the girl on my back, wringing to my neck, I laid them down. They were alive, whoever they were. I woke up.