A recurring nightmare plagued my youth: A rolling cloud of destruction, like the shock wave from an atomic explosion, is headed straight toward me. Just before it hits, I awaken. Then one day, in my early twenties, a friend surprised me with the question, "Do you ever wonder if there's some sort of purpose for your life?" Suddenly I remembered, the last time I had that dream, it was an extended version. Rather than waking up, I fly into the sky and view the destruction from above. People below are succumbing to the ugly brown wave, as it crawls across the face of our planet. Moved with pity, I swoop back down, grab one in each arm, and bring them with me to the safety above. They look at me with astonishment, but I assure them that this flying is an ability they too can possess. Our arms slowly stretch out until they only touch at the fingertips, and the three of us swoop down for the next rescue (multiplying exponentially).