Sleep story · travel, cozy
Sleep story: the night train, when the house is busy — for waking too early
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
Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on.
Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your hands be completely still.
The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see.
Feel your wrists loosen. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The window is cool against the side of your face. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.
Your chest can be still now. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let the mattress take all of it.
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let your breathing do the rest. They will find their own way out.
Sleep. Let the quiet be boring. Softer.
Let the next part go past without you. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. The words can start to blur now.
It works with other people in the house. You do not need silence.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you want to be left alone — for jet lag, Sleep story: a library at closing time, if you have five quiet minutes — for a racing mind or Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you are at home and cannot settle — for winding down.