Sleep story · sea, simple
A caravan by the sea, when you are at home and cannot settle — for jet lag
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. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern.
You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Your chest can be still now.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
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.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.
If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there.
Feel your wrists loosen. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Stay. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Nothing here needs following closely. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Let it all get further away. Let the room get slightly further away. You can stop listening properly.
Being at home and unable to settle is a very specific problem.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are cold and want to be warm — 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 Sleep story: the night train, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for an overtired night.