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 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
Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.
The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Your ankles can go loose now.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your hands be completely still.
The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Notice the pull to make this mean something. It doesn't have to. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Softer. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Stay with the weight of your body.
Just the weight. Let the room get slightly further away. The words can start to blur now.
If this is your first go, stay with the plainest version of the instructions.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a bus at night, on a low-energy afternoon — for an overtired night, A garden in the rain (a sleep story), on a day that started badly — for an overtired night or The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you have done this a hundred times — for a restless night.