There it was, that thin, imperceptible layer between asleep and awake. Popsicle could briefly feel it as she was crossing it. She fought against it forcing the dream to float and surface but consciousness was like a strong riptide - impossible to resist - and her dream? Gone, unimportant, dragged to the depths of her subconscious with many other unmentionables.

There was this voice then, hammering her ear drums insistently. She recognized it but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

The Acanthus opened her eyes and slowly turned her head and looked around, she found herself laying on the couch she recently acquired in the thrift store. There were about half a dozen bodies littering the large room, sleeping deeply, some strangers, some not and all in different states of disrepair. In front of her with her arms crossed was her landlord - or rather her landlady.

Shit! There was the sudden realization she was in trouble - she was due last month’s rent, the noise, the complaints.

Feeling like she had been ran over by a truck the young mage tries to stand up, impossible. Trying to talk was impossible to, her mouth felt like dry paper. Then there was standing up, fighting for equilibrium, quickly tracing the route to the toilet and arriving just in time. Her stomach churned and she finally retched. Once. Twice.

It should be around twelve, it was hot, the warm sun was entering through the large windows of the apartment she shared with some friends. The landlady was now looking at her trying to decide what to say, for now she seemed content with just observing but she wasn’t about to leave – the older lady was on a mission.

The Acanthus turned the faucet for cold water and drank straight from it, then looked up to the small toilet mirror. She was a disaster. Finally she looked sideways and gave full attention to her uninvited guest.

Middle aged, stern, make-up done precisely, pressed shirt, penciled skirt, clean clothes, fancy bag, hair well done, her landlady looked like the opposite of her. The older woman continues with the barrage of threats: court, eviction, bad debt, black lists, damages, interest, money, noise complaints, property price, neighborhood, the family from the third floor, the old couple in the second, it was an unending list of complaints.

I’m sorry. The words finally came out of Popsicle’s mouth. Her eyes downcast, her shoulders curved, a demure expression painted in her face, she was the victim here. The worst thing? She was working at a bar but had been fired without receiving payment. And her new friends had showed up unannounced. And then more people. And she didn’t have the courage to send them away, she didn’t knew anyone. She was lost in a new city, away from her family. For some reason the world was fighting back and it was so difficult. Popsicle was going to pay it back in two weeks, in fact she had already found a new job at another bar and the owner seemed like an honest person. And of course she was going to inform her landlady that she couldn’t pay in time but she needed to know she had a job before coming to her.

She swore.

It all sounded familiar, genuine and it all came to her fast despite the headache. It was the truth that both wanted.
As soon as the landlady leaves with her assurances her phone vibrates. Popsicle read the message. Yes, two weeks would be enough for her to get the money she needed.