Sleep story · travel, cozy
Sleep story: the night train, when the house is busy — for an overtired night
Somewhere between two cities, in the dark, where nobody needs anything from you.
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
There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to.
A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your hands be completely still.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your palms open if they were closed.
The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. The window is cool against the side of your face.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
The window is cool against the side of your face. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the mattress take all of it.
A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.
If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Stay. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
Stay with the weight of your body. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Leave it there. Let your breathing do the rest.
It works with other people in the house. You do not need silence.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.
If this story does not settle you, try The house after everyone is asleep, when you have woken up too early — for jet lag, Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you have been putting it off — for jet lag or A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are new to this — for the hours after a late shift.