Sleep story · cozy, rain
An attic room — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are not in the mood — for the hours after a late shift
Sloping ceiling, rain on the roof a foot above your head.
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 floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window. The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement.
The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel your cheeks let go.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood.
Your chest can be still now. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.
Let the mattress take all of it. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
You do not have to count them. Let the dark be ordinary. They will find their own way out.
Just the breath. Almost nothing to do now. Softer.
Not being in the mood is a normal starting point.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for cozy, rain.
If this story does not settle you, try A boat at anchor, when you need something unremarkable — for the hours after a late shift, A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, after a long day — for a restless night or A field under snow (a sleep story), if you are sceptical about all of this — for an overtired night.