Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have been meaning to start — for jet lag
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
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
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 carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your hands be completely still.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Feel your wrists loosen.
The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Leave it there. Let them.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Just the weight.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let your breathing do the rest. Stay.
You have been meaning to start. This is the least intimidating way in.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a garden in the rain, when you are doing this for the first time — for a restless night, Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when the day has been loud — for an overtired night or The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are fitting this around other people — for a night when you do not want to think.