Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train (a sleep story), when you are cold and want to be warm — for jet lag
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. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea.
Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let the mattress take all of it.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. The window is cool against the side of your face.
Your ankles can go loose now. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to.
Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. If you're replaying a conversation, let it play. It'll finish on its own.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Let the dark be ordinary. The words can start to blur now. Almost nothing to do now.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let them. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.
The end. Sleep well.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.
If this story does not settle you, try A field under snow, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a restless night, A lighthouse at the end of a long day — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for a racing mind or Sleep story: a fire dying down, when the weather has kept you inside — for an overtired night.