Sleep story · quiet, home
Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when you have been meaning to start — for a racing mind
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
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. 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. There is nothing left on the list for today. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the mattress take all of it.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Stay with the weight of your body. Softer.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Sleep.
You have been meaning to start. This is the least intimidating way in.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A garden in the rain (a sleep story), when your attention is scattered — for a restless night, A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when you need something unremarkable — for the hours after a late shift or A fire dying down (a sleep story), before you go back to something hard — for a racing mind.