Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere, on a day that started badly — for a restless night
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 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. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be.
The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. 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 room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Your chest can be still now. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
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.
Notice the pull to make this mean something. It doesn't have to. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Nothing here needs following closely.
They will find their own way out. Let the room get slightly further away. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Just the dark. Let the dark be ordinary.
A day that started badly does not have to stay that way.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A library at closing time, when you have already had a long week — for a restless night, Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, when you are not in the mood — for a racing mind or A bus at night (a sleep story), when you need to stop thinking about work — for the hours after a late shift.