Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, when you cannot concentrate on anything else — 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
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. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea.
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. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
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.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel your wrists loosen.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
You do not have to count them. The words can start to blur now.
Let the quiet be boring. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the dark.
Let them. Let your breathing do the rest. Sleep.
When concentration is gone, work with what is left.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.
If this story does not settle you, try A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), when you have woken up too early — for a restless night, The night train, if you are new to this — for the hours after a late shift or A bus at night (a sleep story), when you are short on time — for a racing mind.