Sleep story · travel, anonymous
Sleep story: a bus at night for a racing mind
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 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.
There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
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.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
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.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.
Let your hands be completely still. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Sleep. Nothing here needs following closely.
Slower. Let them. Let it all get further away.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let the dark be ordinary.
Work thoughts are allowed to be there. They just do not get to drive.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down, on a day that started badly, A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you only have a few minutes — for winding down or A library at closing time, when you have already had a long week — for a restless night.