Sleep story · sea, simple
A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are doing this for the first time — 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 bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. 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. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your palms open if they were closed.
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.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.
Let your hands be completely still. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Stay. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
Nothing here needs following closely. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. You do not have to count them.
Just the weight. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Slower now.
If this is your first go, stay with the plainest version of the instructions.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you need something unremarkable — for a restless night, Sleep story: a fire dying down, when you feel restless rather than tired — for a restless night or Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, if you are sceptical about all of this — for a racing mind.