A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the

The story, in full

Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. 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. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm.

Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it. If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather.

Let your hands be completely still. Feel your cheeks let go.

Leave it there. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.

Let the next part go past without you. Let them. You do not have to count them.

Being on your own is not required, but it does make this simpler.

That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.

12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.