It began a rather hectic day that involved a nasty doctor’s appointment for my 12 year old son Pedro. After a horrific blood draw, we were happy to escape the clinic darkness and explore the sunny day outside. I had a few errands to run for my mother, so we headed to the mall to buy her a bottle of vitamins at GNC. My son had developed a slight headache and I gave him some Tylenol to ease the tension. When we entered the mall, I directed him to the water fountains located in the entry way to the hall where the bathrooms were. As Pedro was taking his drink, swift and thunderous thumps grew louder and louder. I looked up to see a boy, perhaps 15 or 16, running rapidly towards the hallway where Pedro drank. The boy’s face was maroon in color and his hands were cupped tightly over his mouth. I knew at once what this meant and Pedro was in serious trouble. I watched in agony as the boy drew closer and closer to Pedro, every horrific thought ran swiftly through my mind. Pedro looked up at the boy and watched him pass him by, proceeding down the hallway in desperation. Then, we heard it, SPLAT. In disgust, I grabbed Pedro, avoiding the heaving nightmare in the hallway. Pedro grunted and yelled, “Oh SICK! There was red all over the walls!” We were quite grossed out by the events of that 30 second moment, yet one thankful thought spoke to us; at least he didn’t get Pedro.