Sleep story · sea, simple
A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when your attention is scattered — for waking too early
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
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. 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. 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.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Your chest can be still now. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
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 the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Let it all get further away. Nothing here needs following closely.
The words can start to blur now. Softer. Let the quiet be boring.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Stay with the weight of your body.
Scattered attention is the raw material, not an obstacle.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have been putting it off — for the hours after a late shift, A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when nothing else has worked today — for a night when you do not want to think or A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have more time than usual — for a night when you do not want to think.