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The record playing slowly came to a stop. His eyes were heavy. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, or well at all, but he wasn’t sure if he was tired from work or from the constant insomnia that plagued him ever since he had returned to Earth. The latter, of course, but the former was harder to determine. He tried rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand and gave up after only making it worse, letting out a long sigh that sounded more like a moan than one intended for anyone to hear. The only thing that was really keeping him going during this moment of weakness were the three bottles of water on the nightstand, and the small record player that had been dragged out of the depths of his closet. It had survived most of the years it had been most likely passed around from person to person, and even though it's colour was mostly faded from age and time, it was still a piece of art, and he was lucky to have found it a few days ago for cheap. He felt like he was the one who could truly see it's beauty. He picked up the album from it's spot on the record and gently replaced it onto his turntable, the needle spinning the disc into life once more.
Music always made him feel better, even if only marginally. The sound was hypnotic and calming and so unlike anything he had heard before. In some ways, it reminded him of his mom when he would come home late at night and find her sitting in front of the television watching some show about people living happily in their own little islands, never having to go through the troubles of dealing with reality. It was one of the few memories of home that the universe had gifted him with, and he was both greatful to have it and broken at the thought of it. He wondered what she thought about now that he was gone. Did she think about her son? What about his siblings, his grandparents? He was miles upon miles upon miles away from home, and little to no idea of how to return. Was he missing them yet? Was it still too soon to miss someone you knew very little about, but cared about very much? He felt guilty that he could barely remember their faces. He closed his eyes and focused all of his attention on the music that played through the speakers of his ancient record player, trying not to let the images crowd in on his thoughts. The song was another lucky find in itself. He hadn't ever heard of 'Les Refuseurs' before but he could at least read the title and band name clearly, he struggled enough with talking to the man selling it that by the time he'd gotten back to where he had been staying with a surplus of other people and had snuck into his room without conversation, he seemed so relived.
The song he had picked up was called 'Impopulaire' and he relaxed a bit as for once, he could understand the music he was hearing. It took his mind off of things and made him feel better by a landslide. As the song played on, he allowed himself to sink into the music, letting it wash over him. It was like a warm embrace, comforting him in ways he never thought possible. He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in thought and lost in the music, but when it finally ended, he felt refreshed, rejuvenated. He didn't know what the future held for him, but he was grateful for this small moment of peace. He got up from the bed, feeling more alert and less weighed down than before. He grabbed one of the bottles of water and took a long drink, the cool liquid washing away some of the stress from his day. He glanced over at the record player and the album that lay on it, feeling a sense of gratitude for this small piece of home. He knew he couldn't stay here forever, he had to find a way back to his family, but for now, he was content to simply live in this moment. The music continued to play softly in the background, the notes and lyrics filling the room with a sense of hope and longing.
He placed the bottle back on the nightstand and walked over to the window, looking out into the dark sky. The stars were shining brightly, and he wondered if any of them were familiar to him. He had always been fascinated by the stars and the stories that they told. Another blurry memory filled his head, his mother used to tell him stories about the stars when he was a child, and he could still remember the sound of her voice and the way she would smile when she spoke. He was filled with a sense of longing and sadness as he thought about his family, but he pushed those feelings aside and focused on the task at hand. He knew he had to find a way back to them, and he was determined to make it happen. He was a survivor, and he had already come so far.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he turned away from the window and walked back over to the record player. He gently lifted the needle from the album and placed it back in its sleeve, taking care to protect it. He knew that this small piece of music had helped him more than he could ever express, and he was grateful to have it in his life. As he lay back down on his bed, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep, the sound of the music still echoing in his mind. He knew that the journey ahead of him was going to be long and difficult, but he was ready for it. With his music as a source of comfort and inspiration, he was determined to make it home, to be reunited with his family and to finally find peace.