Sleep story · travel, anonymous
Sleep story: a bus at night, on a day that started badly — 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
The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.
You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your hands be completely still.
The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself.
Let the mattress take all of it. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night.
Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times. Notice the pull to make this mean something. It doesn't have to.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Let your breathing do the rest. Leave it there.
Let the quiet be boring. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let the dark be ordinary.
Stay with the weight of your body. Slower. You do not have to count them.
A day that started badly does not have to stay that way.
The end. Sleep well.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: the night train, when you have tried everything else — for a night when you do not want to think, The night train, when you feel restless rather than tired — for a racing mind or The night train, when you have just finished work — for the hours after a late shift.