cobie

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My name is Cobie, 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 and on tumblr. I also have a neocities mirror of my site. Finally, if you want to get in contact, please visit this page.

Seventeen Seconds | My Library

(Section 0) A house;

It was something dull that belonged to a man to be more than life. And a life;

Something that was wasted on him.

His mother was on of those great kinds of women, the ones who entire communities anchored into. They spoke her praises and called her a mother before she even thought of a child. In her youth, she took care of her friends, and her friends took care of her right back. She was selfless, kind, and graceful in her beauty, a natural charmer, all of the words that could be said of a good woman. Her hometown revered her as a rose, brushing and admiring her bloom even as her petals wilted with age. She was cradled as she brought life to those around her, practically giving the jewels from her neck for those who needed them.

She was such a woman that, in her late youth, she decided she would have a child while she was still of age. Everyone had been talking to her about it; how could a woman like her still be single, without child? She had considered it herself, what her being married to the town. But, in her private thoughts, she looked out the window in her quaint, minuscule mansion that she often paced about in, and she considered it. It was like that for quite a while, before she wed her dear friend, the grocer to whom she always smiled when he gave her discounts on the little things.

In due time, she had her firstborn, a young and beautiful baby boy. She named him Casper, but her club of girls that swooned for her presence called him Prim. His eyelashes fluttered so delicately that they knew he would be a gentle soul, and his cry was so melodic that they thought him a singer. Why, they may have even taken him for themselves, did her own gentle voice ease them down from it.

Still, while he was too young to be sentient, every manner of remark was made on his name, his face, even his mind. Praise, before he could even comprehend it.

(Section 1) A man;

"Really? No, I just wanted to catch up, see how you've been today. Before the dinner non-discussion." Prim balanced a hard candy in his teeth, pressed up against his tongue as he leaned over in his fine chair in his Sunday best. He peered forward with a rhythm to his idle movements, all of which were focused on the tapping of his knee. "'S my house, I can ask what I want."

"I wasn't referring to that," Mende Briar sat in the chair opposite, legs crossed and leaning on his hip. The ray of sun from the high window he sat under set his hair aflame in a rich, honeyed brown that left his actual form desaturated in comparison.

"Regardless, regardless," Prim leaned in, "I am in a debt with you, my heart… I spent the money I promised you. You play pauper so convincingly, I forgot I even owed it to you!" Prim's arm reached out, pulling himself downward so he could lean over on his mother's dreadful little chairs. The shift made it screech ever so slightly across the floor, to which he resigned to sitting in it sideways. His own strawberry blonde hair lie so pale in the idle dimness of the room without the sunlight, yet what did catch sparkled across all the walls. When he noticed that for himself, he lifted his hand to the light to catch the sapphire on his thumb. "It… slipped my mind completely, so to speak… "

Mende Briar tsked, his eyes flicking up as he threw his head up. "You went to your mother's today, then?"

"No."

"Oh, then you… held it for me, all this time?"

"…No."

His eyebrows fell in confusion, and the accompanying silence had Prim lean back to look to him. "So it is existing money. What, did you hold it for drugs again?”

Prim gave a damning little smile with a lilted little laugh. So it was a 'yes'…

“Then it’s exactly that,” Mende Briar crossed his arms as he stood up to look at his master. “You can keep my money, then, wherever it’s from. If that’s all you do with it. You can keep my money, spend it on yourself and your little trinkets and toys you call friends.”

“Trinkets. I’ll have to remember that for them.” He curled the fingers of his outstreched hand in the sun. Satisfying his daily remark, he let himself fall from the chair to the floor. As he slid down with a thud, he reached in his pocket to produce a stained old envelope. His mother’s neat and tidy seal was browned and broken, soiled with God knows what.

“You said—”

“It’s my allowance... Keep me from it, if you care so much.”

Mende took it, raking his fingers across the top of the stack inside as he counted the bills. It was just one after the other, all up to nearly four thousand in the largest bills. There was loose change, even a receipt for some small sum. But in the back, tucked into the corner of the envelope lay some ruined note too far gone to read.

“Where is this from?” He snapped, tucking the money away without a second thought.

“My mother… does it matter? Cay does the shopping, you do the cleaning, and I just hoard the money.”

“When did you go see her last? This is far more than she ever sends for you.”

“I saw her when I sold her car… Ah, is that what that money is from?” He tweaked his head to the side, moving from his seat with a waltzing step. "Rose wanted me to sell her car, so I did. I had asked a fine man what he thought it worth, and he replied by mail. Perhaps six thousand, he said?—Maybe less. And I, I had replied, as you know, that is by far, far too little, friend. And he had written back exactly, ‘yes, I know. But as an opportunist, I thought you would appreciate a poor man’s discount’.”

"And you really accepted that sum?!"

"Yes, of course." He nodded to himself, hooking Mende Briar's chin in his hand with a soft smile. "My mother, imagine what she will say when she gets the notice.."

Mende Briar shoved him off, standing just as tall as him as he began to pace. Prim watched him idly, standing still as if he didn't cause the panic. “You—You SOLD that car for just that much? Did you give her a return back?”

“What has she done for me to care?” He waved his hand in the air, legs idly moving back and forth as he let himself fall into his chair once more. As he bounced on the tough cushion, his long hair bounced around him, falling to the back of the cushion.

But Mende Briar grabbed him by the wrist before he could settle, earning some manner of resistance. He pulled him close, all but fighting to hold him. “Let me tell you why you should care. Your mother is one of the most important people in the entire region. And you are an extension of her.”

Prim froze. “…An extension.”

He idled for a moment, not even tapping his hands or kicking around. “My mother…" He began, "is a people pleaser…"

"That is no way to…"

But he smiled. "…I can do nothing without being attached to her name, then…” In the silence between them and his detached expression, Prim had turned to the window. All he was was a child, all he could ever be was a man of his mother. But he knew Mende Briar would never respond to the assumption that it was her fault.

“Briar,” Prim called with a sigh, limply waving his hand in the air as if waiting for something. “A woman like Mother, what do you think she will say at my funeral?”

“Funeral?,” he replied flatly, doing nothing more than raising his eyebrow. “Is that the sort of thing you think about these days?”

Prim laughed. "Well, you never know."

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