Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when you cannot concentrate on anything else — for winding down
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 air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.
Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Your chest can be still now.
The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.
You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Slower now. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Let the dark be ordinary. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Let your breathing do the rest. They will find their own way out. Sleep.
When concentration is gone, work with what is left.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a field under snow, when you want to finish something — for the hours after a late shift, A kitchen late at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are at home and cannot settle — for the hours after a late shift or A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you want something simple — for a night when you do not want to think.