Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, when you want to finish something — for jet lag
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
A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. 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. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let the mattress take all of it.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Let your hands be completely still. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your chest can be still now.
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.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your palms open if they were closed.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. Notice the pull to make this mean something. It doesn't have to.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Let the room get slightly further away. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
The words can start to blur now. You do not have to count them. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Slower now. Just the dark. Let it all get further away.
Wanting to finish something is a better motivation than wanting to relax.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.