Sleep story · sea, simple
Sleep story: a caravan by the sea, when you have more time than usual — for jet lag
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
Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.
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. The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts.
Let the mattress take all of it. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Almost nothing to do now. You do not have to count them.
They will find their own way out. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Just the dark.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let the next part go past without you. Let it all get further away.
This is the longer version, for a day with some slack in it.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you have tried everything else — for a night when you do not want to think, Sleep story: a caravan by the sea, when you have more time than usual — for a restless night or A hotel room somewhere, if you are tired of apps — for a racing mind.