Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time (a sleep story), before you go back to something hard — for the hours after a late shift
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
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 last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it.
The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Feel your wrists loosen. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. Everything here will still be here tomorrow.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Stay with the weight of your body.
Let the quiet be boring. Almost nothing to do now. Let the dark be ordinary.
Five minutes here is cheaper than an hour of grinding.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.