Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have already had a long week — for the hours after a late shift
One light turning, a kettle, and weather you are on the right side of.
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 wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing. The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not.
The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel your cheeks let go.
Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes. If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Slower now. Stay with the weight of your body.
Let them. Leave it there. Sleep.
Long weeks are cumulative. This is a small subtraction.
The end. Sleep well.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.