Sleep story · travel, anonymous
Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, if you are new to this — for a night when you do not want to think
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. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.
Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.
Your chest can be still now. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Let your hands be completely still. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Just the dark. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Let your breathing do the rest. The words can start to blur now. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Softer. Just the weight. Let the next part go past without you.
Nothing here assumes you have done this before.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for the hours after a late shift, A lake before dawn — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have woken up too early — for the hours after a late shift or A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are cold and want to be warm — for the hours after a late shift.