Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have just finished work — for waking too early
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
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. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.
The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your ankles can go loose now.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.
Feel your cheeks let go. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
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.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be.
If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Let the quiet be boring. Let the room get slightly further away.
Nothing here needs following closely. Sleep. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Just the weight. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Softer.
The gap right after work is the easiest one to use.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, after a difficult conversation — for a night when you do not want to think, The house after everyone is asleep, when you have woken up too early — for jet lag or A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for the hours after a late shift.