Sleep story · quiet, home
Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, if you are sceptical about all of this — for the hours after a late shift
The hour when the house belongs to nobody and nothing needs doing.
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 in the room is exactly where it was left. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Feel your cheeks let go.
The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Feel your wrists loosen.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
There is nothing left on the list for today. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes. If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Just the breath.
Let the quiet be boring. Let the dark be ordinary. Nothing here needs following closely.
Softer. Just the weight. Let them.
Scepticism is welcome. You do not have to believe anything for this to work.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.