Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A bus at night, if you are sceptical about all of this — for jet lag
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 city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full.
The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Just the weight. Let the next part go past without you.
Sleep. Let them. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Let the dark be ordinary. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let it all get further away.
Scepticism is welcome. You do not have to believe anything for this to work.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A boat at anchor (a sleep story), after eating too much — for the hours after a late shift, A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, before you go back to something hard — for a restless night or Sleep story: a bus at night, on a low-energy afternoon — for a restless night.