”Excellent!” the doctor cries and hands you the ring.  You put it onto your hand and feel the power.  “Now, let’s fly out to the Elders and get your body healed!” The doctor helps you up and, painfully, the two of you move to the bay window.  You stand on the ledge and look down – past your bandages, the street looks to be nearly fifteen stories below.  “You just have to believe!” The doctor shouts and pushes you from the ledge.  Your bandages and skimpy hospital gown flap in the breeze; your squeeze your fist as hard as you can, you think your very hardest about flying, but it just doesn’t help.  You splat through the top of an armored truck newly full from its pick-up runs.  Maybe you just didn’t believe hard enough.  You die surrounded by piles and piles of money, and one very confused guard.