Copyright © Natasa Jacobs. All Rights Reserved.

The Nutcracker

By Jenny with a G

Thomas had seen a ballet only once in his life.

It was December, close enough to Christmas that lights glowed in nearly
every window and silver garlands trembled above the streets. His mother
had saved for months to buy two tickets to The Nutcracker.

She expected him to enjoy it.

She did not expect it to change him.

From the moment the curtain rose, Thomas sat perfectly still.

The Ghost of Tomorrow

Chapter 2: Home Truths

That night I had a vivid dream. You know, one of those dreams where
you think you’re awake until you wake up? In this dream, I woke up, and
grabbed the clothes that Mum had laid out in my bedroom to get dressed
into and went into the bathroom. Just a normal school morning. Only when
I took off my pyjamas, two things finally dawned on me. Okay, well
three. No four.

The Ghost of Tomorrow

Chapter 1: Aftermath

It’s the first Monday in February 1983, and I’m looking in the mirror
of the dresser that Dad dug up at a garage sale last year, after Mariska
kept complaining about me hogging hers. I’m in my light green checked
summer uniform dress, and I’m fiddling with my hair. Finding a style
that keeps my curls under control, out of my face, and won’t
make me look like a weirdo has had me fretting all week. Never mind that

A retelling of Pinocchio's most infamous detour, for the 2026 Summer Island Getaway Challenge. When Pinocchio runs away with a friend to Pleasant Island instead of coming home to become a real boy, he discovers the island has a very particular transformation in store for its visitors. And not everyone who escapes the island gets away clean.

The other Jason walked down the hallway toward Mr. Erwin.

I was up first the following morning, Sunday. There was now less than four weeks to go to the concert date, Saturday 18th December; our end of term exams were starting on 13th December and we had a family and relatives preview for the evening of Tuesday, 7th December. And today we had a dress rehearsal. All in all, it was going to be a busy run up to Christmas. I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas; its arrival would mean the end of the road for Aisling and I was becoming very enamoured by her.

I used to have a recurring dream...

My mother drove me home. I was feeling very deflated about my performance, and, simultaneously, both excited and terrified at the prospect of a shopping day in Galway the following Saturday, dressed as a girl. My biggest concern was leaving our house; I didn’t know how my father would react. I contemplated getting dressed in Niamh’s house. At least all the other participants were now used to seeing me in a skirt and girl’s top. In Galway, no one would know me. Right now, I wanted just to go to bed and let sleep sort out my combination of despondency, excitement and trepidation.

As the car turned off the lane leading to Niamh’s house, and onto the road towards ours, I saw the security light outside our house come on. My heart sank: This could only mean one thing; my father had just driven or walked into the farmyard. For some reason, this was a much more troubling prospect than been seen by my mother wearing one of the Twins cheerleading skirts. She had, presumably been given an explanation by Niamh so would have expected to find me dressed like this when she called to collect me.

“Does he know?”

Sophia and Mariposa snuggled down together under the mosquito netting. They didn’t need any other covering in the warm weather that was normal on the island. Last night’s rain had made the lushness of their island home just that bit more lush, and the perfume of the flowers was intoxicating.

Our Island.

Sophia her involvement in the solar arrays on the island as the resident engineer, but there was plenty of time to share with the child care of Squid (Gabriele) and Giant Clam (Santiago), and Seahorse (Delphine). There were no suitable husbands for her so her maternal feelings were sublimated by her involvement with the three children.

The late afternoon sun hung low, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement as Eric Whitmore walked home from school. His slight frame and delicate features—long lashes framing gray eyes—drew stares, as they always did. At thirteen, he was used to the whispers, the assumptions, but they still stung like salt in an open wound.