Sleep story · water, slow
A boat at anchor, when you need something unremarkable — for winding down
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
Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it. The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk.
The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes. The boat is anchored in eight metres of water, and the chain makes a sound as it moves.
Feel your wrists loosen. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it. There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks. If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let the room get slightly further away. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
The words can start to blur now. Let the quiet be boring. Just the breath.
Nothing dramatic happens here, and that is deliberate.
The end. Sleep well.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are cold and want to be warm — for a night when you do not want to think, A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when you need something unremarkable — for the hours after a late shift or A boat at anchor, when you need something unremarkable — for the hours after a late shift.