Sleep story · sea, simple
A caravan by the sea (a sleep story), when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for winding down
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 curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding.
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.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.
Your chest can be still now. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Slower now. Let the room get slightly further away.
Just the dark. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. The words can start to blur now.
Let your breathing do the rest. You do not have to count them. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Feeling fine is a good reason to do this, not a reason to skip it.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have just finished work — for an overtired night, A field under snow (a sleep story), when you are not sure this will work — for winding down or The night train, when you feel restless rather than tired — for a racing mind.