Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A bus at night (a sleep story), before something difficult — for waking too early
Upper deck, front seat, a city going past that you do not have to join.
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 heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes.
A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.
Let your hands be completely still. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Let it all get further away. Let the room get slightly further away.
Just the breath. Leave it there. Let the next part go past without you.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let the dark be ordinary. Almost nothing to do now.
It works best in the hour before something difficult.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you only have a few minutes — for a night when you do not want to think, A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere noisy — for waking too early or Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for an overtired night.