Sleep story · sea, simple
A caravan by the sea (a sleep story), after a long day — for waking too early
Thin walls, wind outside, and the sound of shingle about fifty metres away.
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 sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years.
The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Your chest can be still now.
The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor.
Let your hands be completely still. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.
Let the mattress take all of it. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.
If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix. If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back.
Your ankles can go loose now. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Let them. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Stay. Just the breath. Just the dark.
You can stop listening properly. Slower now. Let the quiet be boring.
Use it at the end of a long day, not at the start of one.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for winding down, Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you have tried everything else — for a night when you do not want to think or A lake before dawn (a sleep story), if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for the hours after a late shift.