[M][Earth] Of the People

[Jarka]

It was one of those days, one of those glorious mornings that leisurely washes away sleep before gently suggesting true consciousness. Jarka was vaguely aware of a question as she slipped out of a dream. Teetering on the edge of continued hibernation, her eyelids remained sealed while a groan rumbled forth. She could feel the itchy creases from last night’s clothing-cum-pajamas stretch across her skin. Every muscle in her body droned with soreness; her teeth felt raw in her jaw. Regardless, she couldn’t remember ever having a more fulfilling slumber. It was too soon to rise.

Jarka lazily rolled over to her other side, bumping into another person as she shifted. She was not alone. Too lethargic to open her eyes, she chose to snuggle against the neighboring body instead. After shave and old cigarettes flooded her nostrils. “Hati.” Her lips trailed against his course t-shirt as she murmured. “What are you doing in my bed?”

The awakened boy let out a gurgling sigh, lazily laying his arm across her waist. “Actually, you’re in mine.”

Her eyelids reluctantly flickered open. Shitty television, shitty recliner, shitty apartment. Hati was right. They had spent the night together on his pullout sofa, whatever that meant. A slight snore alerted the pair to a third bunk mate. Perplexed, Jarka peered over the boy’s torso. There lay an unkempt Victoria, cuddling a fluorescent blue cup.

The exhausted psychic flopped her head back down. Bits and pieces of the previous evening began tumbling through her memory, too jumbled to fully comprehend. Drinks and dancing and laughing and pills and lightning and dancing and drinks. It had been a while since she had a night like that. It had been a while since she had fun.

Hati laid his palm on her face in a strange gesture of affection. “How you feelin’?”

“Sore. Happy. Better than Victoria probably will.”

He snorted. “Hangovers. Can’t live with ‘em, so don’t stop drinking.”

Jarka smirked before glancing towards the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, per se, but her usual morning routine called for a hearty breakfast. With an uncharacteristic groan, the girl lumbered out of the makeshift bed and staggered to her domain.

A small pot was plunked on a rickety range, filled with water and a dash of salt. Her knife strafed away the skin of two potatoes before they were submerged in the liquid. She glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes

Quick cuts chopped a medium onion and three cloves of garlic into a pale pile. The chef fetched a skillet for the hot adjacent coil. With a splash of grease, the cubed roots were tossed onto the heated pan. Her shaking of the skillet only ceased to check the condition of her conglomeration. As the onion softened, a cup of spinach was chopped and stirred into the mixture. The greens wilted after a minute or so, and Jarka turned the burner down to medium.

Her fork made quick work of a half dozen eggs. The beaten goop sizzled as it was poured into the concoction. Her potatoes now tender, she drained away the water and set the pot aside. Three tomatoes and the tubers were sliced, sliced, and sliced again into cubes. Two minutes had passed and the bottom of the mishmash had begun to firm up.

Tomatoes and potatoes were welcomed by the Yellowish green goop before being tailed by sprinkles of pepper and cayenne and a hearty splash of hot sauce. The medley remained on the burner, occasionally being stirred, until it began to settle into a fluffy, sticky mass.

Jarka slid her handiwork into a glass bowl. She studied it for a moment, seeing the piece as only an artist can see flaws in her masterpiece, before adding a small handful of shredded cheddar cheese. As the orange flakes began to melt, a proud smile spread across her lips.

The girl turned to Hati, who had only just garnered the motivation to leave his bed. “No better hangover cure than eggs and orange juice, right?”

Hati’s crooked grin signaled his agreement. “Speaking of, we better wake up Victoria.”