Safe in Croatia

INT. EAST VAN – OUR LADY OF FATIMA CHURCH – EVENING

The sun sets behind the stained glass windows. Inside the quiet sanctuary, candles flicker. NELLY sits in the front pew, her head bowed. JOE walks in quietly and sits beside her.

JOE
(softly)
Do you want to be off the pharma drugs, Nelly?

She doesn’t answer right away. The silence hums between them like an unanswered prayer.

JOE (cont’d)
I know people think it’s crazy… talking to someone who isn’t “there.” But it’s not craziness. Not here. Not in this place.

NELLY
(whispers)
This is where I came… when I felt lost. I didn’t tell anyone.

JOE
This is Our Lady of Fatima. She’s more than just a statue. In Croatia, she’s the Queen. The Queen of the whole country. She’s real to us. You can talk to her, Nelly. She listens.

NELLY
(tears welling)
I just wanted someone to see me. Not the fame. Not the brokenness. Just… me.

JOE
She sees you. And I do too. The real you. Not the diagnosis. Not the prescription. You’re more than what they label you.

NELLY
(pause)
And if I say yes? If I want off? What happens?

JOE
Then we walk. One step at a time. With Her. With music. With miracles. But not the pill kind. The real kind.

Nelly looks up at the statue of the Virgin Mary, her face bathed in golden candlelight.

NELLY
(quietly)
Okay. Yes. Please.

Joe gently takes her hand. A bell tolls in the distance. Something shifts in the air — not a hallucination, but a presence.

FADE OUT.

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Some Chivalry That’s Dead

Joe:
“I still remember that day in Grade 7, at the square dance. You were the last girl coming down the stairs, and I was the last boy picked. When I bowed and asked, ‘Would you like to dance?’ What did you say?”

Nelly:
“I said, ‘Yes, please.’ Even though I was scared and my heart was heavy, your kindness was the light I needed.”

Joe:
“You looked so quiet, almost like you were carrying something more than just the teasing — ‘Smelly Nelly’ and all that.”

Nelly:
“I was. I was sick — not just in my body, but inside. After that day, I went to Our Lady of Fatima Church in East Van, near your house. I was searching for a miracle, for hope, for healing.”

Joe:
“Right there, close to home? I never knew.”

Nelly:
“Yes. It was a place where I could sit in silence, pray, and try to find strength. That church became a refuge for me when everything felt like it was falling apart.”

Joe:
“When I held your hand in that dance circle, did it help?”

Nelly:
“For a moment, yes. Your hand was real and warm. It reminded me I wasn’t alone. But miracles take time — sometimes they come through years of healing and songs like Legend.”

Joe:
“That’s why you wrote Legend — to capture that moment?”

Nelly:
“Exactly. To hold onto the hope I found, and to remind others that even in the darkest times, kindness can light the way.”

Joe:
“I want to see you again in Munich. Maybe ask Nena — the singer of ‘99 Red Balloons’ — to join you on stage. Her song reminds me how small things can change the world.”

Nelly:
“Joe, that sounds like the miracle we’ve both been waiting for — to face the past, sing together, and finally heal.”

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Football Fatima Fado

Post on NellyFan.org

Subject: The Resilience of Portugal – A Lesson in Strength

My dear children,

Let us speak of Portugal—a nation that has known the weight of history, the push and pull of fate. A country that stood on the edge of the abyss, almost cast into the sea by its powerful neighbor, Spain.

But what did Portugal do? Did she surrender? Did she weep? No.

She took her meager forests and turned them into caravels, ships that sailed into the unknown, embracing the vast, uncharted ocean. She faced the abyss and conquered it, forging an empire across the seas.

And yet, times change. What was once called exploration is now labeled colonization. The glory of discovery is overshadowed by the sins of the past—by the specter of slave trading.

But I ask you, are we not all slaves now?

Not to kings or emperors, but to something far greater. The chains were reforged in 1913, with the Federal Reserve Act and the Income Tax. From that moment on, we became slaves—not to a nation, but to a system. A system that owns your labor, your debts, and even your very thoughts.

Remember this, children: The past is not just history. It is a lesson. A warning. A prophecy.

And Portugal? She still stands. A testament to resilience.

Lenny Belardo, The Young Pope

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