Sleep story · travel, anonymous
Sleep story: a bus at night, if you are tired of apps — for the hours after a late shift
Upper deck, front seat, a city going past that you do not have to join.
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
You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.
The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your chest can be still now.
If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Leave it there. Let the next part go past without you.
Almost nothing to do now. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the breath.
Just the dark. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let it all get further away.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a boat at anchor, when you need to stop thinking about work — for the hours after a late shift, The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are too tired to try hard — for jet lag or The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are on your own — for waking too early.