Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, when you cannot concentrate on anything else — for a restless night
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 train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.
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 seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your hands be completely still.
Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. The window is cool against the side of your face.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your wrists loosen.
Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Your chest can be still now.
You can stop listening properly. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let your breathing do the rest. Just the breath.
Almost nothing to do now. Just the weight. The words can start to blur now.
When concentration is gone, work with what is left.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.
If this story does not settle you, try A library at closing time (a sleep story), if you have five quiet minutes — for winding down, Sleep story: a field under snow, if you are new to this — for a racing mind or An attic room — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are waiting for something — for jet lag.