Party, tonight.

Stasia didn't give a s**t.  This wasn't a callous disregard, conceited selfishness or cynical philosophy.  This was a coolness embedded into her innate nature.  She never came across a situation that riled her up or got her freaked.  Never did she find herself stressed beyond belief or wallowing in depression.  That is to say she never found herself completely elated or in the throws of bliss either.  Forever unperturbed, continuously disenchanted, Stasia was static.  Not that she cared.

     What amplified and quirked her nonchalant personality was her unabashed reverence and acceptance of death.  Rather than scaring her into cherishing all that is transient, turning her into an idealistic do-gooder, it made her careless.  Everything ends.  She is an infinitesimal speck in the vast universe.  Nothing really matters.  This view didn't keep her from enjoying her existence, though.  However nihilistic she was, meaninglessness couldn't deprive her of happiness.  She was alive.  This is nice, she thinks.  No big whoop.

   

     Staring at herself in the mirror brought about no emotion whatsoever.  It was almost as though she were impartial to the concept of beauty.  The planes of her heart-shaped face were constructed with such balance as to be considered graceful, her cupid bow lips swollen and chapped from a licking and biting habit, gently arched brows over almond eyes.  What peculiar eyes these were.  Their color iridescent, often changing depending on the light.  There was a bit of gunk sticking in a corner.  She pinched her face, squeezing her eyes shut and screwing up her mouth.  Groaning and rubbing out the gunk with her fist, she tried to defeat her morning grogginess.  Then she yawned and stretched and scratched her butt.  Afterwards, she got ready.

     In the kitchen she met up with Dawn, her delightfully eccentric roommate.  Dawn happened to be scrambling eggs, frying bacon and flipping pancakes shirtless.  This was not unusual.

"Morning," Stasia said, noting the brightness emanating from her friend; twas happiness.

"Hey!  Good morning," she was greeted with a large grin.  "T***y-Tuesday!" Dawn shimmied.

"So it is," Stasia smirked and shook her head.  Nudity didn't make her uncomfortable, nor did it inspire lust in her.  She could, however, grasp the pleasurable aspects it sometimes led to.  Food was more attractive to her at the moment.  She grabbed a plate and loaded on the goods.  Dawn was an early riser and ritually cooked breakfast for them, and whoever else happened to have crashed at their place the night before.  The two were open people, and lucky to live where they did, so they shared their home with transients, couch surfers, and buddies needing a hand.

        Stasia took her food to the living room to watch television while she ate.  When she plopped onto the overstuffed sofa her a*s was met by an uncomfortably bony protrusion.  A caveman-ish muffled groan sounded from the cushions.

"Ugh," it stated.  Reluctant to move, she continued to sit, lifting a blanket to peer at the stranger underneath.  "Dude!" the lump protested, trying to squirm in such a way that would knock her onto the floor.  Stasia noted the perturbed tone of voice and inwardly smiled.  She enjoyed people's reactions to things she did.  "Get off me," it moaned.  She didn't, of course, but offered up an expression that said 'who the f**k are you and why are you sleeping on my couch, not that its a big deal or anything' all with a squint of the eyes and snarl of the lips.  The crasher quickly blinked at her five times with blurry morning vision.  Stasia poked a strip of bacon under Lumpy's nose which was kindly accepted after a second's confusion.  She replaced the blanket over the visitor's head and flipped on the t.v. to a cartoon show she'd never outgrown.  A deep chuckle sounded from her throat.  Mild mischief.

        As she sat consuming syrupy goodness, casually ignoring Lumpy's bony knees, absently absorbing the nonsense emanating from the wide-screen, she remembered yesternight's dreams of fantastical substance and spectacular color; the only magic that countered her underwhelming perspective on life.  Details blended together, but themes remained the same.  Hesitant to let her mind wander to the past, yet pointedly intrigued, she replayed the phantasmagoric happenstance.

        To her recollection, death had a recurring starring role in every one of her borderline nightmares.  The end was never pretty.  These lucid moments of sleep cultivated a curiosity that Stasia was unfamiliar with, but it had been going on for so long now that she was content with this oddity:  plagued by visions of suicide, an endless stream of crushed bones, gore, blood and madness.  Yet to be frightened was impossible.  She didn't even think to be scared.  Stasia was merely curious.

        Though the dreams became a vague memory with the morning light, one thing remained clear.  The victim was Stasia, or at least it looked like her.  There were major differences between this dream girl and the real waking life Stasia.  With one, a deep sadness was prevalent, coating the mystical dreamscape with a thick, permeable translucent fog.  And her eyes... they were so angry.  This girl who gives not-a-f**k was a complacent person, comfortable and almost boring.  To witness her subconscious creation committing such grotesque acts was off-putting in a way that hinted at an underlying problem.  She could psycho-analyze herself for hours, ingeniously, and still fail to 'get it'.

        Her face was super sticky, syrup having dribbled down her chin.  She tried licking it off.  Dawn, looking confused, joined her in the living room.

"Have you seen my friend?" Dawn asked.  A nodded reply was given.  "Where is he?"

     Lumpy chose that moment to reveal himself, throwing off the blanket and sitting up with a huge stretch which popped a few vertebrae.  He then struggled to free his legs out from under Miss Who-gives-a-s**t's entrapment.  When he was through, he just sat there staring at the offender with a blank expression on his face as if to say, 'Dude.  Why?'.  She tilted her head and arched an eyebrow.  Enough said.

"How did you sleep?" Dawn inquired.

"Not bad," he said, yawning like a lion.

"Good, good.  Oh," Dawn remembered, "this is my buddy Andrew.  Andrew, this is Stasia Benedict, my roommate and longtime companion."  Lumpy jerked his chin up for a sec in response.

"Sounds gayer than it is," stated Stasia.

"Yeah, we sort of met..." Andrew said, looking at Dawn.  He then situated himself like the statue of The Thinker.  He was most likely wondering how to avert his eyes at just the right angle as to appear disinterested in Dawn's naked chest while still in plane sight.  Peripherals.

"We've been friends a long while," Dawn continued.  "Stasia is a photographer.  Sometimes I use her pictures as references for my paintings."  Yada yada yada.

"What sort of things do you take pictures of?" Andrew asked, feigning interest.

"Partial nudists," she interjected flatly, tilting her head towards Dawn.

"She's joking, of course," Dawn clarified.  "She's into nature."

"Are you passionate?"

        The girl gave him a strange look, then kind of thought to herself for a moment.  She wondered if she really did care.  She knew probably not.  This did not shock her.

"I don't really care," she shrugged, "it's just something I do."

"What's the point without passion?" Andrew quipped.

Stasia lamely took another bite of waffle, then replied, mouth full, "Aesthetics.  I like to look at things:  play of light and shadow, perspective and appearance."

"So you like to capture beauty."

"Beauty is a matter of opinion.  I just like to see what's there, amplify it, then share it with others."

"Could you quit photography?"  This guy rapid-fired questions like a journalist.

"Wha-?" her expression was laughable.  "Yeah, I guess, but why?"

"If you could so easily give it up, do you even really like it?"

        Stasia's demeanor changed.  She took the question seriously.  Am I so detached, she said to herself, that I feel no passion or inspiration from my hobbie-turned-career?  Mentally esoteric, her train of thought led her to the conclusion that it was a simple and easy way to make money (at least, for her).  Art lovers found her work captivating and original; juxtaposing digital editing with the natural world created photographs that looked as though they were of another place and time.  Perhaps she took for granted the name she'd made for herself in the photography community.

"It gives me peace."  She swigged her orange juice and belched.  Then she got up to walk away.

"Hey, are you going to the party tonight?"  Andrew turned to Dawn.  "Chad's having a shindig and we want everyone to come," he told her breasts.

"Sure thing!  I love Chad.  He's so hot.  Will you be there, Stay?" Dawn fluttered her eyelashes.

     Stasia gesticulated a response and smiled.  Booze and she's there.  Everyone knew.