Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere, on a day that started badly — 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
Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.
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. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your chest can be still now.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your palms open if they were closed.
There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your hands be completely still.
The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
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.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
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.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Sleep. Stay.
You can stop listening properly. Just the dark. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Slower. You do not have to count them.
A day that started badly does not have to stay that way.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are too tired to try hard — for jet lag, A bus at night (a sleep story), before something difficult — for a racing mind or A caravan by the sea, when you feel restless rather than tired — for the hours after a late shift.