I said, Ethan, I had an idea for a horror story, spawned by your sad words to me, yesterday. This was our breakfast conversation. I told him the story of the handcuffs on me for my lack in mothering skills. How they led me into a lone room with other unfit mothers. He said, "that was the devil, himself mother. Why didn't you recognize him? I would have gotten out of that dream right away."
I was not in a dream, I told him. I was writing the screen play. He said, "don't write that one, mother, it is too unreal.
Didn't you watch Carmen's scene of how the devil is overcome, already?" I know that I am cleansed by the blood of Jesus, but I thought that this would be a good motivation for me to walk circumspectly and the handcuffs were burning in my mind.
I wouldn't write anymore of that story from the devil, was my son's instruction to me. I will receive that, I said. Would to God, that I could be obedient.
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