Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when the day has been loud — for a restless night
A room you did not choose, in a city you do not have to know.
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 pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight.
The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel your cheeks let go.
Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Your ankles can go loose now.
The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Let your breathing do the rest. They will find their own way out.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Softer.
Just the dark. Let the next part go past without you. Stay with the weight of your body.
For days that were loud from the moment they started.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.