I find them ugly and totally unappealing.  

I don't know  whatever possessed Great Aunt Millie to get me a stupid Cabbbage Patch doll, but she did exactly that ... for my fifteenth birthday.  It is now sitting on my bed, and looking at "Cordelia Rose" creeps me out.  I refuse to pick it up or even cuddle it.  After all, I am fifteen, not six.  I am not a child but a young adolescent on the cusp of young adulthood.

Mom and Dad both said that it was very nice for Great Aunt Millie to get me such a beautiful doll; I say they both have rocks for brains.  I see nothing cute about Cabbage Patch dolls at all.  My idea of fun is not playing with dolls, but watching Twilight or collecting dragons.  Now dragons, they are totally cool!  Even though I am a girl, I love dragons!  Always have, ever since I can remember.

Well, tell that to me now.  The way it was before I ended up ... among the dolls.

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I now sit perched on a bed, staring at four fuschia-colored walls.  I cannot move a muscle; it's as if I am dead, but I know I am alive because I still see, hear, think, plus my heart beats and my lungs work.  I just can't ... MOVE.  It's as if I am totally and completely paralyzed.

I look down ... only, to my horror, to discover that my legs and arms are like a chubby baby's: they are dimpled and remind me of tiny sausages.  I am wearing a midnight-blue spotted dress with a smock over it, the kind little girls wear.  I have on white pull up socks and black patent-leather Mary Janes upon my feet.  When I look in the mirror by my dresser, I am shocked to discover that my hair is made of yarn and that I look like ... a Cabbage Patch doll!!

I feel a scream ripping at the base of my throat.  I want to scream but discover I cannot.  I can't even speak or make a noise.  I am stone-silent.

I wonder what has happened during the night, but one thing is for certain: I have turned into the very thing I have come to hate the most!

I wonder if Great Aunt Minnie put some kind of spell or hex on me.  She is a practicing witch, or so I've been told.  Maybe she's the one who did this to me, to get back at me for not liking Cordelia Rose.  At the thought of this, I start to cry but do not know if I am crying real tears or not.  After all, I have ceased being human in the physical sense: I am now a child's plaything.

~To be continued.~