Sleep story · travel, anonymous

A hotel room somewhere, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for the hours after a late shift

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.

Read it myself

Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.

The story, in full

The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.

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. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Your chest can be still now.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.

Let the mattress take all of it. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel your wrists loosen.

There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.

You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back. If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

Softer. Nothing here needs following closely.

Let them. The words can start to blur now. Let the quiet be boring.

It travels well. Hotels, spare rooms, other people’s sofas.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.