Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train (a sleep story), when you are cold and want to be warm — 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
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. 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.
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 window is cool against the side of your face.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel your cheeks let go.
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.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
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 top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. 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. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet.
If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back. If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Just the dark. Stay.
Slower. Slower now. Let the room get slightly further away.
Sleep. You can stop listening properly. Just the breath.
Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.