Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere, when you are too tired to try hard — for a night when you do not want to think
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 bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.
The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your hands be completely still.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel your cheeks let go.
There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
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.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Sleep. Let them.
Let the quiet be boring. The words can start to blur now. Let the next part go past without you.
You can stop listening properly. They will find their own way out. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Too tired to try hard is exactly the right amount of tired for this.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A field under snow, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for waking too early, An attic room, when you have been putting it off — for a night when you do not want to think or A field under snow — a slow story for the end of the day, when your attention is scattered — for the hours after a late shift.