Sleep story · sea, simple
A caravan by the sea (a sleep story), when you have been on screens all day — for a night when you do not want to think
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 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.
The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle. The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Let your hands be completely still. Let the mattress take all of it.
There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.
If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let it all get further away. Let them.
Just the dark. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let your breathing do the rest.
Stay. Let the next part go past without you. Nothing here needs following closely.
After a day of screens, the eyes and the shoulders need this first.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A field under snow, when you have tried everything else — for a restless night, A lighthouse at the end of a long day — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are short on time — for a night when you do not want to think or A field under snow (a sleep story), if you are fitting this around other people — for waking too early.