The Stillness Protocol

A disgraced wellness influencer's curated spiritual journey to the Canadian north collapses into a blizzard-bound farce of frozen tech.

Introduction

This adaptation of "The Stillness Protocol" serves as a rigorous exercise in translating the internal, unreliable narration of a satirical prose piece into the objective, observable language of screenwriting. By converting Bart Sterling's delusional inner monologue into physical action and dialogue, the script highlights the stark contrast between his curated digital persona and the indifferent reality of the wilderness. This text demonstrates how to utilize visual juxtaposition—such as the framing of a selfie versus the wider shot of a vomiting guide—to critique character and theme without relying on voiceover or exposition.

The Script

EXT. FROZEN LAKE - DAY

An infinite expanse of white. The sun is brutal, washing out all definition.

BART STERLING (34) holds a smartphone at arm's length. He wears a parka with a minimalist logo resembling an upward-trending stock chart. His jaw is set in a pose of curated agony.

And so we find ourselves... stripped bare.

Bart glances at the screen. The viewer count sits at 12.7k. He frowns, adjusting his angle to catch more shadow.

Stripped of the noise. Of the toxicity. Here, in the raw, humbling embrace of the wild, we are forced to confront the man in the mirror.

A sound like a CHAINSAW GARGLING GRAVEL rips through the air.

Bart winces. He pans the phone camera to the right.

JEAN-PIERRE (50s), a man carved from frozen pine, wrestles with a gas-powered ICE AUGER. He wears a faded red plaid jacket and greasy snow pants.

Jean-Pierre does not look at the camera. He leans his weight into the machine. The spiral blade BITES into the ice with a deafening ROAR.

Bart raises his voice, shouting over the noise.

We’re just... drilling down now! Past the ego! To the life-giving water beneath!

The auger PUNCHES through the ice with a wet gasp. Jean-Pierre kills the engine.

Silence rushes back in. Absolute. Profound.

(Whispering)

You see? The silence... it’s the canvas upon which—

Jean-Pierre grabs a plastic bucket. He walks to the edge of the hole and VOMITS loudly into the water.

Bart stares at his phone screen. He taps it frantically.

(Reading)

"Did he just puke?" "Peak wellness."

Bart jabs the screen. The stream ends.

INT. ICE HUT - DAY

A beige canvas cube. Cramped. A propane heater HISSES in the center.

Jean-Pierre sits on a camp stool. He pulls a massive sausage from his bag. He bites off a chunk with a loud SNAP.

Bart sits opposite, phone in hand. He presses record.

Day One. It’s... a lot. My guide, Jean-Pierre...

Jean-Pierre CHEWS with the mechanical grind of a quarry crusher.

...he doesn’t speak much. But his silence is... loud. He understands the circle of life.

Jean-Pierre produces a flask. He takes a long pull. He BELCHES, a rich, resonant eruption.

Bart stops recording. He lowers the phone.

I’m in the middle of a five-day activated-charcoal detox. I’m cleansing.

<center>JEAN-PIERRE</center>

That explains the puking.

Bart closes his eyes. He inhales deeply through his nose.

I’m going to go out. Just... be with the landscape. Absorb the immensity.

Bart stands. His head grazes the canvas ceiling.

<center>JEAN-PIERRE</center>

Wind’s picking up.

EXT. FROZEN LAKE - CONTINUOUS

The air is angry. The wind is a physical wall of moving ice particles.

Bart stands with his back to the hut. He holds the phone out, angling his face into the gale.

Sometimes... you have to walk into the storm! You have to let it strip you down to your very core!

The wind HOWLS, tearing at his hood.

Because only when you’re truly lost... can you truly be found!

A heavy hand GRABS Bart’s shoulder.

Jean-Pierre stands there, wearing a thick fur-lined hat. He looks annoyed.

<center>JEAN-PIERRE</center>

The hell you doing? I said don’t go far.

Jean-Pierre snatches the phone from Bart’s numb hand and shoves it into his own deep pocket.

<center>JEAN-PIERRE</center>

Get in the hut. Now.

He grabs Bart’s collar and drags him back toward the beige cube. The structure strains against its anchors.

INT. ICE HUT - NIGHT

The wind SCREAMS outside. The canvas walls ripple and bulge. Snow dusts every surface.

Bart paces the small space. Two steps. Turn. Two steps.

It was a misunderstanding. The product... it was potent. It was for advanced practitioners.

Jean-Pierre stares at the blue flame of the heater. He does not move.

The mainstream consumer wasn’t ready. Their toxicity levels were too high. The purge was too... aggressive.

<center>JEAN-PIERRE</center>

You mean it made people shit themselves.

Bart stops pacing. He stares at the floor.

Yes. Violently. At work. At weddings.

Jean-Pierre nods slowly. He reaches into his pocket and hands Bart the phone.

Bart presses the side button. The screen remains black. Dead battery.

EXT. FROZEN LAKE - DAY (DAY 3)

The storm has passed. The sky is a brilliant, impossible blue. The snow is sculpted into pristine dunes.

Bart kneels by a hole in the ice. He pulls on a fishing line, hand over hand.

A WALLEYE breaks the surface. Olive and gold scales glisten in the sun. It thrashes in the slush.

Bart holds the fish. It is heavy, cold, and muscular.

He reaches into his pocket with his free hand. He pulls out the phone. The screen lights up. 22% battery.

Bart holds the phone up. He frames the shot: The fish. The sunrise. His own face.

He looks at the screen. Then he looks at the fish’s eye. A black, unblinking marble.

He looks at the horizon. Vast. Indifferent. Silent.

Bart lowers the phone.

He presses the side button. The screen goes black.

He slides the phone back into his pocket and stands there, holding the fish.

What We Can Learn

This adaptation highlights the challenge of converting internal monologue into external action, a critical skill in screenwriting. In the source text, Bart's delusions are conveyed through his thoughts; in the script, these must be externalized through his performative behavior—framing the selfie, modulating his voice, and reacting to the comments. The script uses the physical environment, specifically the overwhelming noise of the auger and the silence of the aftermath, to undercut Bart's dialogue, effectively turning the setting itself into an antagonist that exposes the character's artifice without the need for explanatory voiceover.

The script also demonstrates the importance of "the frame" as a narrative device in stories about digital media. By explicitly describing what Bart is trying to capture on his screen versus what the "camera" (the audience) actually sees, the screenplay creates a layer of dramatic irony. The audience sees the vomit, the grease, and the boredom of Jean-Pierre, while Bart tries to sell a spiritual journey. This duality teaches writers how to use the discrepancy between a character's intent and the physical reality to generate satire and subtext.

Finally, the adaptation process reveals the necessity of condensing time and action to maintain cinematic pacing. The prose describes hours of boredom and internal spiraling; the script compresses this into distinct, active beats—the pacing, the confession, and the dying battery. This teaches the principle of "late in, early out," where scenes begin at the moment of highest conflict or change (the storm hitting, the confession peaking) rather than documenting the slow passage of time described in the literary source.