Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are new to this — for a racing mind
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 bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked.
The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. 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.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.
Your ankles can go loose now. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. You do not have to count them.
Just the dark. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Nothing here needs following closely.
Let them. Just the breath. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Nothing here assumes you have done this before.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try The night train, before something difficult — for waking too early, A field under snow, when the day has been loud — for winding down or A lake before dawn, when you are at home and cannot settle — for jet lag.