Three-Minute Fiction: Chubby Bunny Hey mom, it's Kelsey, sorry for calling so late. I'm kinda glad you didn't answer though, this is will be easier if I can just let my words dribble out without any interruption.
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Chubby Bunny

For Round 10 of our Three-Minute Fiction contest, we asked you to send a story in the form of a voice mail message. Our winner was “Sorry for Your Loss.”

"Hey mom, it's Kelsey, sorry for calling so late. I'm kinda glad you didn't answer
though, this is will be easier if I can just let my words dribble out without any interruption. I don't know when you'll listen to this. I know you're getting up early to go to the gym before work; you look amazing by the way, I feel inspired to get a gym membership now because of you! Crap, I'm rambling! I have a point. Okay, I have something that I need to tell you. I've been ... You know that game that Kylie and I used to play when we were younger? Chubby Bunny? Where we'd stuff our cheeks full of marshmallows until our cheeks looked like fat little rabbits? You always hated it, you said it was dangerous since we could barely talk or breathe.

When I'm at home, I feel like I'm stuck in a game of chubby bunny. I can't speak, I can barely breathe. Here's the part you hate. Here's the part where I cough, and all of the marshmallows come bursting from my mouth and onto the floor in front of you. I'm in love with a girl, Mom. God, look at how messy I've made the floor, all the marshmallows are everywhere. I'm in love with a girl named Grace. She's not what you're picturing right now. I know you, and you're picturing a hyper-masculine body-builder type girl with spike piercings and a spiked pixie haircut. You're thinking that this King-Kong lesbian has taken me against my will and is squeezing me tight in her brutish fingers of immorality. If you saw her, Mom, you'd laugh at yourself for thinking that. Grace is an Art Education major, she's from a small city in Ohio that I've never heard of. She's tiny, smaller than me, even. She's got gently twisted copper colored curls that reach the middle of her back, and eyes so dark that I'm not sure that she has pupils. She wears nothing but dresses, vintage 50's housewife kinds of dresses that you can only find in seedy little thrift shops. We went to one last Saturday and she picked out a little pink one, with purple and blue flowers smaller than buttons all over it.

But anyways, I'm digressing. I don't know what you're doing right now. You might be crying. I hope you're not crying. You're more than likely wondering how this happened. Maybe you're cursing yourself for letting me go to college out of state. Maybe you're wondering if it's something you did. I can tell you that it's not your fault, Mom. It's no one's fault, really. This ... secret has been crawling out of me for a long time. The more I recognized it, the more marshmallows I shoved in my mouth. It's been building and creeping out of my pores for as long as I can remember, but it took meeting Grace for me to finally release it. This is the part where you kneel down on the floor and help me pick up the marshmallows that I've spewed everywhere. I don't know if I'm gay, or bi, or pansexual, or what. I just know that I'm in love with a wonderful girl named Grace. I'm still figuring the rest out. I hope you're not mad, or disappointed. I need your support. I need to know that no matter who I love, male or female, you'll still love me. You always got irritated when we played Chubby Bunny, but what I need from you, mommy, is help picking up my marshmallows.