This is the script for 'Citizen Chaff' - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Consider this your story. Not a metaphor, not a trick of language, but a straightforward declaration. You, right now, in this precise moment, are the subject of what follows. There is no fourth wall. You are not reading about someone else. You are reading about yourself, and the act of reading itself is what moves the plot. There are no pages to flip, no scenes to jump between. Just you, this column, and a kind of quiet unfolding that happens in real time as your eyes carry these words across the space between ink and understanding. Every sentence is a scene. Every pause is a beat. The Chaff, this week, is about what it means to read The Chaff.

 

FADE IN:
INT. A ROOM WITH LIGHT - DAY
We open on a quiet space. It might be a kitchen, or a living room, or the passenger seat of a parked car. The light is steady, not dramatic. Soft sounds continue in the background, but they are inconsequential. The refrigerator hums, a bird lands on a branch, a neighbour opens a screen door and lets it clack shut again.
The camera lingers on a person reading a newspaper. Not just any newspaper. The Citizen. Page 5. The Chaff. The person is you. Not someone like you. Not an actor portraying you. Just you. Exactly as you are.

 

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Chance brought you here. Or routine. Or habit. Or boredom. Or interest. Whatever the mechanism, this is where you landed. Reading this. Experiencing this column not as commentary or critique, but as a mirror. You are not watching someone else’s story. You are living your own, right now, in the small but essential act of noticing words and letting them change the shape of your attention.

 

INT. CLOSE-UP OF THE READER
Your expression may not shift, but something happens anyway. A subtle internal shift. You are aware that the sentence you are reading is about you. Not vaguely, not suggestively, but literally. This may feel unusual. That is intentional.

 

NARRATOR (V.O.)
This script does not require action. It does not demand drama or consequence. Its only demand is awareness. You are here. You are reading. You are in this scene, and that is enough to count as a beginning.

 

INT. READER’S MIND - NON-LINEAR SPACE
We enter the space of thought. Not memory exactly, and not imagination, but that wide in-between where impressions drift. A smell from earlier in the week resurfaces for no reason. A small worry swims across the surface and then disappears again. You remember the name of someone you meant to call, and forget it again two seconds later.

 

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Your mind contains more scenes than any director could frame. While you sit and read, other versions of you continue elsewhere. You thinking of errands. You remembering a joke. You briefly wondering whether you locked the back door this morning.
All of these scenes co-exist, overlapping in imperfect harmony. You are the main character in all of them.

 

INT. THE ROOM, CONTINUED
The camera returns to your body sitting or standing or leaning or lying down. However you are holding this newspaper, you are doing so with a kind of unconscious commitment. Your eyes keep moving. The story keeps unfolding. You are still here.

 

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Most stories focus on decisions. What will happen next? Who will say what? But sometimes the most important moment is the one where nothing changes except the depth of attention. This is one of those moments.

 

INT. READER’S FACE - NEUTRAL LIGHT

We see your eyes pause for a beat. You notice the edge of the page. Not because it matters, but because you are aware of noticing things now. You are aware that reading is an action. That noticing is a choice.
The camera catches your face as you keep reading. The expression is yours and no one else’s.

 

READER 
(quietly, perhaps only in the mind)
What comes next?

 

NARRATOR (V.O.)
That question is not rhetorical. It is also not ours to answer. What comes next is not on the next page or in the next edition. It is whatever you do next, and how you choose to make sense of it. You are the only one who gets to see the rest of the scene.

 

INT. THE STORY CONTINUES, EVEN HERE
The camera holds on the reader for a moment longer. The words are nearly finished now. The light remains steady. The newspaper rests in your hands. Everything is still happening.

 

TEXT ON PAGE:
“The next scene depends entirely on what you decide to do now.”

 

FADE TO BLACK.