A bus at night (a sleep story), when you need to stop thinking about work — for the hours after a late shift

The story, in full

Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel your wrists loosen.

Let your hands be completely still. Let the mattress take all of it.

You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel your cheeks let go.

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.

If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. You can stop listening properly.

Let the dark be ordinary. The words can start to blur now. Sleep.

Almost nothing to do now. Stay. Just the dark.

Work thoughts are allowed to be there. They just do not get to drive.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.

18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.