Sleep story · travel, cozy
The night train, if you are new to this — for winding down
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 seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.
The window is cool against the side of your face. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
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.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
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.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Just the weight. You do not have to count them.
Let your breathing do the rest. Softer. Just the breath.
Let the quiet be boring. Let the room get slightly further away. Let the next part go past without you.
Nothing here assumes you have done this before.
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 Sleep story: a fire dying down, when the weather has kept you inside — for a restless night, The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are too tired to try hard — for winding down or Sleep story: a fire dying down, after a long day — for a night when you do not want to think.