Sleep story · travel, anonymous
Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere for jet lag
A room you did not choose, in a city you do not have to know.
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 bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.
There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Your chest can be still now.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Just the breath. Just the weight.
Slower now. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let it all get further away.
Nothing here needs following closely. Let them. Stay.
It is designed to fit around other people’s schedules.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a field under snow, if you are new to this — for a racing mind, A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have been on screens all day — for jet lag or A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when you need something unremarkable — for winding down.