Sleep story · warm, winter
Sleep story: a fire dying down, when you are not sure this will work — for the hours after a late shift
The last hour of a fire, when it stops being a fire and becomes warmth.
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 blanket over your legs that you did not consciously arrange. Somewhere in the house, a door closes and everything goes quiet again. There is a smell of woodsmoke in the room that will still be there tomorrow.
The fire has stopped being flames and is now mostly red shapes that shift and settle. The logs beside the fireplace are down to the last two. The heat reaches about a metre from the fire and stops.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
The window is black, and the glass is cold if you touch it. The ash in the grate is deep and soft and grey at the edges.
Your chest can be still now. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The room has gone darker than you noticed, and the light is all low and orange. The dog is asleep on the rug, on the side nearest the heat.
Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Let your breathing do the rest. Just the weight.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Leave it there.
Not being sure it will work is a perfectly good reason to try it once.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, winter.
If this story does not settle you, try A lake before dawn, when you have been meaning to start — for a night when you do not want to think, A boat at anchor (a sleep story), when you are not in the mood — for a night when you do not want to think or A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, when you want to finish something — for the hours after a late shift.