Sleep story · travel, cozy
Sleep story: the night train, when you are somewhere noisy — for the hours after a late shift
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
Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound.
The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on. The window is cool against the side of your face. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind? Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your wrists loosen.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
The words can start to blur now. You do not have to count them. Just the weight.
Slower. Let them. Just the breath.
Noise is fine. You are not trying to hear anything subtle.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.
If this story does not settle you, try The night train, when you need to stop thinking about work — for a night when you do not want to think, A bus at night, if you are fitting this around other people — for a restless night or A caravan by the sea, when you feel restless rather than tired — for winding down.