cobie

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https://cobie.nekoweb.org/

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cobiedoll@proton.me

About

My name is Cobie (21y), it is nice to meet you. I am a goth & a gothic writer who writes all manner of fiction.

I post here for no reason other than to post something somewhere. No one really reads things here, so I can feel like I post to the void. Plus, I also get to update statuses for my website widget to plaster all across the site.

You can find me on my website! I also have a neocities mirror of my site. Finally, if you want to get in contact, please visit this page.

June 28, 2026 | My Library

:: An excerpt from my Sedimentary, something you might never read:

I waited for so long to get to see her again. She was a stuffed elephant. I never expected to see her, at least not for real. Something I wanted to have to appeal to a me that I shouldn't tap into.

I thought about it. She played music from her head, a lullaby that I can't remember the name of. She was plush, pink, round, and cute. As a baby, I believe I rejected her and carried someone much less special than she was to me now.

I don't know what it is about childhood toys. The bunny I carried everywhere, loose at the stitching and much, much worse for wear than the photo I saw of her online stays with me now. But the elephant that I pulled the tail of and whispered to at night is gone. I remember that she broke her head, the notes became unaligned, but I still listened to the steel-toned song.

The bunny, my grandma ordered clothes for. We bought doll clothes of the time and gave her shirts and outfits. She had an entire wardrobe and dressed like a sailor. We took pictures of her, but I haven't seen them in years. But I remember the blue and white and the yellows. I remember when my family got so frustrated with me that they hid her from me, but only for a while.

I remember as well, I had a care-bear plush, too. It was minty green, so maybe it was Bashful Heart. It was small and worn in the same way the bunny was. My grandma told me that there was a way to change the size and condition, but I had to close my eyes for the magic to work. So I did. I hid him away in the chairs, out of my sight, then sat on the couch and closed my eyes. When I opened them and sought him out, he had disappeared.

She told me that it meant the magic worked, and to look just where I had sat. In my spot, there was a giant replacement for the old one, said to be the same one enhanced by how much I loved it. I think maybe she might have known about the Velveteen Rabbit, something I had never read until high school. So because of that, I accepted the plush bear, but I never believed the magic explanation for a second. I think I was too smart, but in some abstract way, I wish I had believed her.

Do you know that story of the Velveteen Rabbit? When you love your toys so much as a child, they have to leave you one day and they become real. When your toys are burned or tossed away, they never die, they gain new life. And you can find them somehow, if they let you observe them, and it would have the same spots, the same wear, but they look back at you with wide eyes.

Maybe that was what I stole from them, the ability to become real. When I put my bunny, her clothes long gone, on my desk every day, I feel the absence of love. But she sits on the desk, not discarded of. Just to remain. But my elephant and that bear, and so many others, they are gone.

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