We live under prediction.
Not prophecy—prediction. Prophecy claims to see what will happen. Prediction claims to know what you'll do, and then builds the world around that knowledge until the gap between forecast and reality closes. Not because the forecast was right, but because it made itself right.
The Forecast is a piece about this closure. It asks five questions—thin, almost trivial—and returns a detailed prediction of your future self. The prediction feels uncomfortably accurate. It might be. Or it might be a mirror angled to catch whatever you're already looking for.
The piece doesn't resolve this ambiguity. That's the point. Living under algorithmic prediction means never knowing if you've been seen or reduced, understood or merely modeled. The system's confidence is indistinguishable from its accuracy. And your resistance—your skepticism, your attempts to game the questions—is already factored in.
You gave five answers. The system needed fewer.
Your future was already claimed.