Story Start: The Peculiar Predicament of Poppets

This is a tidbit of the writing I'm working on. I'm a bit obsessed with drabbles right now, so this story is being written in drabbles. 

Enjoy!

Boxes... They come in boxes from all over the world. It is so crowded with all the boxes and all the dolls. The dolls! The dolls cover every surface: the cabinets, the tables, the couches... she even made new surfaces with the boxes the dolls came in. Everywhere there are dolls. My room isn't even safe. But she says I have to share, I have to be nice, that they've family now too. I try to talk to her, to explain why she needs to stop. But she no longer hears me and it is too loud. I hate them.

The stories are what get me. They all have stories. Be they plastic or porcelain or wood or cloth, they all have stories about how the child who loved then died tragically and now the child's soul is forever hiding inside the doll they loved so dearly. Each story makes me cry. They so need someone to protect them from the evils of the world! How can I ignore their need? With just a few clicks of my mouse, I can bring that tiny soul to my home and keep it safe. They are my children and I love them.