Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time, after eating too much — for winding down
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
There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. Everything here will still be here tomorrow. The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table.
The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it. The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Feel your wrists loosen.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the mattress take all of it.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. Everything here will still be here tomorrow.
If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let your breathing do the rest. Let the quiet be boring.
You can stop listening properly. Just the weight. Let the dark be ordinary.
Almost nothing to do now. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Do this sitting up, not lying down, if you have just eaten.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try A library at closing time, after eating too much — for jet lag, An attic room (a sleep story), when the weather has kept you inside — for a restless night or Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you are at home and cannot settle — for winding down.