Sleep story · sea, simple
Sleep story: a caravan by the sea, when you have more time than usual — for a restless night
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
The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. 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.
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. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
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 heartbeat somewhere far away. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
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.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Let your breathing do the rest. Nothing here needs following closely.
You do not have to count them. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. The words can start to blur now.
Let it all get further away. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
This is the longer version, for a day with some slack in it.
The end. Sleep well.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try A hotel room somewhere, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for jet lag, A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you want to be left alone — for jet lag or Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you have been putting it off — for the hours after a late shift.