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 the hours after a late shift
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. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night. A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second.
The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. 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 thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel your wrists loosen.
The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill. Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Almost nothing to do now. Let the dark be ordinary.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Stay. Let the room get slightly further away.
You can stop listening properly. The words can start to blur now. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
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.