Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere, if you are tired of apps — 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
Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.
Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
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.
Feel your cheeks let go. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the quiet be boring.
Let the dark be ordinary. Slower. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Slower now. Sleep. Softer.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have tried everything else — for an overtired night, Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you are doing this for the first time — for a restless night or A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are on your own — for jet lag.