A soft hand touching him hesitatingly, it penetrated his drunk haze. So soft, and oh so soothing.

　　It reminded him of when he was a young lad in his mother's knees. His mother would read to him, and teach him how to do maths. She will praise him and pat the soft curls of his head when he does things right.

　　The small hand that caressed his thigh, and now, his hair, was like a soothing balm to his wounded soul. To his head raving mad.

　　One by one, his demons began receding. One by one, the dark memories began fading. They loosened their fierce hold on him. Only a...