Felicity

In the beginning was the Pink and the Pink was with Flash Sentry and the Pink was Flash Sentry.

In his tumbling dreams, the Pink persisted. Flash couldn't put a face or a form to it. There was only a feeling: that of a warm hug. Toasty and tender. With kisses and fragrant breaths.

Yes—there was a smell to it too. Lavender. Baby powder. Cotton candy. All things fluffy and sweet.

Flash loved it and feared it. Loved it for the nebulous joy that tickled his heart. Feared it for the risk of being spoiled by so much unnameable beauty and comfort.

He wasn't alone with the Pink. There was a framework to it. Two halves. Two pairs of arms that encircled him. Shackled him. Suckled him. Pierced him.

Pleasure. Pain. Pink.

There was a name. To all of them. A him. A her. A hyphen in between.

There existed a Holy Trinity within the Pink, but Flash Sentry didn't know where to kneel and pray.

He had fleeting thoughts. Chance visions. Feather-light brushes with lips and laughter and lamentations. Every time he tried to meditate and turn the whole measure into something concrete, it would shatter and shake him back to the surface.

So he settled for floating within the shadow. Within the glitter. Within the blissful haze of the Pink.

For to dabble too deeply—to remove himself so far from... himself...

It would only remind him that none of it was real.

At least...

...not yet.