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

The story, in full

You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your palms open if they were closed.

The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.

If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let the mattress take all of it.

Let them. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.

Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Almost nothing to do now. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.

This assumes you have already tried the obvious things.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.

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