Sleep story · water, slow
A boat at anchor (a sleep story), after eating too much — for a restless night
A small harbour, a rope that creaks, and a boat that moves about a metre in the night.
Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes. Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you.
The blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel. The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way. The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let the mattress take all of it.
Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it. Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles.
If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let the next part go past without you. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Softer. Just the breath. Let the quiet be boring.
Do this sitting up, not lying down, if you have just eaten.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.