Sleep story · warm, winter
A fire dying down, on a day that started badly — for waking too early
The last hour of a fire, when it stops being a fire and becomes warmth.
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 dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.
The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Your chest can be still now.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow. There is a blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your ankles can go loose now.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
You can stop listening properly. Let it all get further away.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let the dark be ordinary. You do not have to count them.
A day that started badly does not have to stay that way.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.