Sleep story · sea, simple
A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, before you go back to something hard — for a restless night
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 bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts.
There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Your chest can be still now.
The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
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.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
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.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
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.
Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. If you're replaying a conversation, let it play. It'll finish on its own.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the mattress take all of it.
Let the next part go past without you. You can stop listening properly.
Let the room get slightly further away. The words can start to blur now. Leave it there.
Let them. Let the dark be ordinary. Just the breath.
Five minutes here is cheaper than an hour of grinding.
The end. Sleep well.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have tried everything else — for the hours after a late shift, An attic room, when you are doing this for the first time — for a restless night or The house after everyone is asleep, when you need to stop thinking about work — for an overtired night.