With fumbling fingers, Marcus unwrapped the small brown paper package. He peeled back the protective layers until he finally glimpsed the small vial located at the center of the package. He froze and gazed down at it in awe. In his hands was a tiny glass bottle with a little cork stopper. The liquid inside was a warm golden color, and there wasn’t much of it.
Happyness. He remembered the first and only time he had tried it, many many years ago, as a young boy. When the Gloom was all he’d ever known his entire life. The feel of a single drop splashing into his mouth and instantly overwhelming him with a feeling he’d never felt before. A warmth swept over him, although he was nowhere near a fire. His mind buzzed with wellbeing, and he felt full though there was no food. Strangely, the corners of his mouth had turned up, entirely of their own accord. Nine year old Marcus had clapped his hands to his face, and wondered what this new expression was. Something burbled up inside of him, and he’d made a sound. Much later, after the adults had shushed him and hurried him inside before they were discovered, he’d been informed that it was called a giggle. Gradually, the feeling began to fade. Marcus noticed of course, and ran to his mother. He had no words to convey what he was feeling, but his mother knew anyhow. She knelt beside him.
“Mother, can’t I have just a little bit more?”
“No, sweet child, not now. That little amount...it was all we could get.”
“But mother, will I... will I ever have it again?”
“If the saints look down upon you, dearest. You will again feel Happyness.”

Marcus had never forgotten those words. Now, ten years later, he held a vial of the stuff in his hands. It had taken months to find a trustworthy vendor, and almost a year to scrape together enough money. All for this, this small vial filled with all of his childhood’s hopes and dreams.
Marcus glanced up quickly, making sure no one had seen him open this precious package. Then he crept around a corner and down a flight of stairs, the city swallowing up his thin frame. Once he had arrived at his hideaway, and double checked that he hadn’t been followed, he lit a lamp on the floor and sank into the cushions by the far wall. He noticed a smear of black paint on his knuckle left over from this morning’s painting and scraped it off with a fingernail. The flame in the lamp flickered and jumped, illuminating the artwork hung on the walls. All of them were done in dark blues, grays, and blacks. Most of them were bleak looking. But, Marcus rationalized, he was just painting his emotions.
And tonight. Tonight his idea would take shape. He pushed off the cushions and walked over to one of the only dry spots in the wall. There were two boards nailed there, one on top of the other, but with a small gap between them. He reached it and slid out a crisp white piece of canvas already mounted on a frame. This too, had been specially bought after more saving of money, just for this occasion. He set up the canvas, and brought out all the paint cans and containers he owned.
Reds, greens, brilliant blues, purples and oranges tumbled from his arms into a pile in front of the canvas.
He wiped his clammy hands on his worn coat and picked up the brown package. Letting the paper fall away, he finally held the vial in his hands. He tilted it from side to side, watching the liquid swish, and estimated that there were about ten drops in it. Not a lot. But it had to be enough. 
His hands shaking once again, Marcus took the cork out of the bottle, careful not to jog it at all.
It was so hard to believe that this moment was actually here.
Marcus took a deep breath and brought the vial to his lips, downing the contents in one gulp. His eyes snapped open. This time the effect was immediate. A rush of energy bubbled up from inside him, and he jumped for a paint brush, opening the cans of paint as fast as he was able. Barely stopping to clean the brush between colors, he slathered paint on the canvas. Jumping around in a fury, he almost knocked the lamp over, and he swore pleasantly to himself.

A wide grin was plastered across his face, and if someone were to have seen him in this moment, laughing and splashing paint gaily on the canvas, they would have thought him mad. He felt lightheaded, but in the best of ways. Light fairly shone from him, and his cheeks began to ache, so unused to the feeling of being used.
Swirls and streaks splayed out on the canvas. So deft was his brush that the paint needed little coaxing to do exactly as he wished it to. Occasionally a shape or the suggestion of a face would surface in the creases of the paint but would soon be washed away by another furiously applied coat. Strangely, the colors never muddied, never dripped. It was as if the whole world had gathered to give Marcus his moment of perfection.
Marcus knew not how long he painted, time - and everything around him for that matter, had faded away.
Finally, as the euphoric feeling began to fray at the edges, he stood before his canvas. His masterpiece shone out like a beacon among all its dreary surroundings. The colors! The beauty! Marcus examined it from all angles and then collapsed onto the pillows, exhausted.
He felt a pang as he looked at what that feeling, called Happyness, could create. He almost wished that he’d never gotten a taste in the first place. It made it so much harder to go back to ordinary life... A single tear trickled from his eye. He looked and looked at the canvas until finally his head fell back, and Marcus slept.