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The following monologue is from my play, IMAGE, where a young mother questions her faith after her daughter is admitted to the hospital from a heroin overdose.

NICOLE
You want to hear an interesting story about prayer?  When I was...I think I was ten...there were three girls who used to play in a park at the end of my street every day after school. Most of the time there were very few people there except a  grounds keeper who made friends with them.  He got their trust and one day he coaxed them into his shed and somehow got them to take their clothes off.  I learned the "somehow" was telling them he was going to kill their parents if they didn't. So, every day for three years, he had his fun.  One of them had the idea to form a prayer group to ask God to intervene and let this man stop.  The power of prayer. They met every night, prayed for four hours, and cried  in each others arms. They had a deep, deep faith that it would all  stop.  It went on. And on. And all the time they were praying so hard.  After all, God loves you and would not want any of his children to be hurt, so pray and he'll take c
are of you.  Nice thought, if he exists and cares. Years went by with no answers. The first girl developed a drinking problem. Another was deeply depressed and took a late night walk down the train tracks... And the last  girl? No one knows.  Just disappeared. And do you think there was any justice for our friendly grounds keeper?  He left his job and moved away.  Nobody has heard from him. Never made to face any consequences for ruining three precious lives. Where is my daughter going to end up? Should I pray for her?  From all I've learned, it would be useless.
 

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