Here is gabrielle's contest entry. As you probably know, she is one of my best friends ever, and she still talks to me even after I abandoned her in New Zealand almost a year ago- somewhere around Pukekura if I recall. She is currently residing in Wellington, where there are many kiwis.

This Tale.
By Gabrielle
There is a lot of beauty in the world. Most of it is contained in one box. That box is guarded by a Mexican Walking Fish who is only called “Ooee”. Sometimes he lets beauty escape. It dissipates on the wind and envelopes the world in a fine mist, gathering in drops that look like dew and bouncing off window panes. Everything beautiful is forgotten unless Ooee remembers to share the beauty.
“That’s absurd.”
“Don’t read over my shoulder.”
Justin shrugged and left the room muttering to himself. He had told her to write a story about a Mexican Walking Fish, not some philosophical rant on the nature of beauty. Women. The front foyer of the theatre was deserted. The dying sun glinted off the marble tiles at perverse angles. It felt old. Huge and old. Justin sighed. And empty. He settled into the swivel chair and stared bleakly at the ticket screen. Only as good as the demand. Nobody to buy, nothing to sell. Nothing to do. The minutes dragged by. He felt his brain would implode. His head drooped. Then a scraping sound on the counter. He snapped to attention. A man of middling height stood there. Middling age, graying hair, stern but nondescript features. Justin offered a smile and the man said this:
“My name is Rudolph Metzger.”
Worlds spun dizzily out of control. Justin gaped.
“No you aren’t. He’s not… real.”
“Oh I am, Justin. You made me up and now I’m here to claim my girl. So go get Tiff.”
Back into the office. Justin’s heart pounded. The story sounded even dumber out loud. Predictably, she scoffed.
“Justin, amuse yourself by cleaning something. I am not ‘Rudolph Metzger’s girl’, I am your boss.”
“What if I said I wasn’t lying?”
“I’d say you’d better be.”
Something about the look on Justin’s face told her things were complicated. She narrowed her eyes. He looked solemn and rather white. She followed him out to the front box office. Nobody was there. The sun glanced hard off the tile. The foyer looked lost without tumbleweeds. She turned on him with a quirked eyebrow. He opened his mouth to defend himself. And the sun suddenly filled the foyer. As mid-day. And on the rays floated pale pink blossoms. They blanketed the foyer. The fragrance was unbearably heady. The tile disappeared under a frothed mass of blossom petals. And the sun was a liquid thing laughing among them.
“Well, back to work,” said a voice like bubbles.
A swath appeared between the blossom waves and a path cut slowly towards the door. A glimpse of pink tail here, a glance of pink gills there.
“Ooee!”
He was gone before she could finish gasping. And the story found it’s end.