Hi. My name is Brian, or it was Brian. It’s now Brianna. And, this little story is of the changes that have occurred in my life.

When I was young, I was confused as to who I was. I was a boy, but liked to play and look like a girl. I use to wrap a towel around my waist and pretend it was a skirt. When we played house, I wanted to be the mother. And, I had an aunt who was gorgeous and I wanted to be just like her.

Charlie/Charlotte's story continues as Graeme finds himself being dragged deeper into his friend's mess.

If you haven't been following AGoN, feel free to jump on board, it shouldn't take you long to read the first two parts and catch up!

You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of the imagination. Next stop: THE TWILIGHT ZONE." - Rod Serling

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The Miracle - A TWILIGHT ZONE story
By Anon Allsop

Nash was a foster child who cared deeply for everyone around him...so deeply that in grief, he was transported beyond that of his own life! Just how do you investigate a death that happens inside...THE TWILIGHT ZONE?

Vicky

 © 2012 Nick B

Indestructible

“Steve Austin, astronaut, a man barely alive...”

You can blame my grandfather for the fact I know that line. Its from a TV show from the dark ages called “The Six Million Dollar Man.” He likes to tell me he worked on the show.

Over and over again.

Somehow, he ended up with a lot of memorabilia from it too. A whole pile of props, mostly examples of the “bionic” parts. He also has copies of all the scripts, and worst of all, copies of film he er... liberated from the set.

We all know what TV means don't we?

I giggled as I raised the spinning mower blade all the way up and put it into forward. In front of me the Gardener laid vainly trying to roll out of the way. He wouldn’t make it. Absolutely amazing the poisons found in ordinary household products.

The Girl Most Likely To ...
by Barbara Lynn Terry

Part I - Meeting Renée.

It is a weird thing, what we call life. I mean, you go through the motions of existence because the name of the game is survival. But what about those that are just going through the motions and really have no concern for their survival?

She sat on the steps just upstream of the bridge. Two hours now, as the Ouse roiled and surged round the old stone and debris span in the eddies. Soon, perhaps, the flood markers in the pub downstream would need another notch, and the gardens to her right would be submerged. Winter rains, winter floods, who gave a shit, really? All part of a world she had tried to engage with, that had spurned every attempt she had made to join. The light was fading slowly on a miserably grey and washed out February afternoon, and as it went, so would she. There was only so much strength given to a person, she thought, and when that was gone, so were they.

The changing of the Bully
Jill Micayla

School bullying has dire consequences; however one school was tired of boys who bullied or treated girls wrongly.
Roger Brooke was a boy who had a lesson to learn.

Last time...
She smiled fondly down at me for a minute before she finally answered, "I'm just worried about this trial. It looks like it's going to be really rough for you. And I'm also worried that Karen might get away with this."

I nodded emphatically, "Oh yeah, I'm sure! Trust me, Mom, we've got aunt Karen right where we want her. But yeah, the trial itself is probably going to suck. At least until we get to the good part." I knew I'd probably end up crying again when I testified, but I was willing to put up with the embarrassment. Especially knowing we had an ace up our sleeve!

A Cold Morning in Toronto

This story was inspired by Dorothy Colleen’s Weblogue “Minus 35 degrees Celsius” that she posted January 16th, 2012.

There’s cold and then there’s cold!

Connor and Caitlin only moved to Toronto with their mother less than two weeks ago. Then today the schools are closed. So what can they do home alone, in the cold, with the power down?

Kristi

By: Cindilee

Kristi woke with the alarm. She hated school days, especially after the nights she endured. She dragged herself out of her cot, in the basement of her “Auntie’s” house.

She was sixteen, and had been out of her parent’s house for two years. She had problems that they didn’t want to deal with, and she didn’t want to abide by their wishes, so she left. No looking back. It was too painful. She wondered where it had all gone wrong.