Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train (a sleep story), when you are cold and want to be warm — 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
Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet. The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea.
The window is cool against the side of your face. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees. The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your chest can be still now.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Your ankles can go loose now.
Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet. 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 your calves spread out and flatten.
Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Sleep. You can stop listening properly. Let them.
Let the quiet be boring. The words can start to blur now. Stay with the weight of your body.
Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.
The end. Sleep well.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.
If this story does not settle you, try A bus at night (a sleep story), when you are waiting for something — for a restless night, Sleep story: a field under snow, when you have just finished work — for waking too early or A field under snow, when the day has been loud — for winding down.