Sleep story · sea, simple
Sleep story: a caravan by the sea, when nothing else has worked today — for the hours after a late shift
Thin walls, wind outside, and the sound of shingle about fifty metres away.
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
There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night. The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding.
The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your chest can be still now.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel your wrists loosen.
A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second.
Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your hands be completely still.
Let the next part go past without you. The words can start to blur now.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let the room get slightly further away. Let your breathing do the rest.
Almost nothing to do now. Let the dark be ordinary. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Nothing else has worked today. That is not a reason to skip this.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for a racing mind, An attic room (a sleep story), when you are at home and cannot settle — for a restless night or A bus at night, after eating too much — for winding down.