Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when the day has been loud — for waking too early

The story, in full

There is nothing left on the list for today. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.

The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel your wrists loosen.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.

Let your hands be completely still. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.

The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.

If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

Nothing here needs following closely. Stay.

Just the dark. Leave it there. Let it all get further away.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. They will find their own way out. Let the quiet be boring.

For days that were loud from the moment they started.

That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.