Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are sceptical about all of this — for a night when you do not want to think
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
Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery.
The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound.
Your chest can be still now. Let your hands be completely still.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Let it all get further away. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Almost nothing to do now. Sleep. Let the room get slightly further away.
Scepticism is welcome. You do not have to believe anything for this to work.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down, on a day that started badly — for jet lag, A boat at anchor (a sleep story), when you are short on time — for the hours after a late shift or The night train, after a difficult conversation — for winding down.