Malcolm “never thought he would see what his spleen looked like.” His bedroom floor had caved in and he had fallen several feet to the level beneath him and landed on his back. He had crunched forward to see a sharp wedge of broken glass sticking out from underneath his ribcage. A piece of it transected the organ which sat adjacent to it. He didn’t gasp but stared at it. For a second, he had thought its glistening purple surface was one of his mother’s larger crystal statuettes. He had immediately become distracted by the distant moans of his family members throughout the now silent house. Drywall dust was in the air, and coated everything. The smell of burned wood was strong. All was still except for the occasional piece of wall or ceiling that would give and rip to the floor. By the time he had looked at his spleen again, it was swollen with maroon colored blood seeping from one end. He collapsed fully onto his back because he needed to breathe; his chest was feeling heavy, he could barely move the air in and out. He tried to breathe deeper, even using shoulder thrusts and tensing his neck, but he couldn’t do it. It was like someone had cemented his chest muscles. He was tiring out . . .