SUBMISSIONS

Submissions are accepted on a regular basis, year-round.
Can include, short stories, essays, poetry and prose.
Must not exceed 3,000 words.
Must be written by a current ESA student, or alumni.
Submissions are accepted: e.s.say.says@gmail.com

Wednesday 4 May 2016

Digits by Nastasia Kujbid

Circled in red


A two digit number lies on my paper

If I squint the four becomes a nine

If my eyes pierce the paper, the five may become a seven


Two digits make my blood run cold

Two digits make the walls close in

Two digits make me scream in distress

Two digits make me question my prospects


Digits symbolize achievement

Success is marked by three

Failure is marked by two

Stupidity is marked by one


At school I am nine digits

My future is determined by two

My heart rate is three

I am a sum of digits

Tuesday 3 May 2016

Father by Anonymous

I remember it,
I remember it as love,
enriched and nothing but.

I remember you as pain,
as misunderstanding,
why?

I remember you, father
I think of you,
wonder where you are

I picture you as a child would
as only I would
in a cabin in a wood

you are stolen away,
pots and pans, chemicals and potions
line your shelves

green liquid feeds into burning coals
you take something from an old box,
shimmering, my baby blonde hairs lie in your hand

shivering, burning, crackling upon the coals
stolen when I was a child
you are a bride needing something something blue

Please do not take my eyes

PRIMARY(+)SECONDARY by Emma Mills

RED

I wake up and see red. The neon lights from the sign outside leave a glow across the room, and if I

turn my body I can see him bathed in them. I realize just how right he looks covered in red, yet

currently less sinister. It's strange how peaceful and young he look in his sleep. I feel like a witch ready

to take her first sacrifice, sitting over him in this decrepid motel room.

My body feels cold and small next to his. I try and remember why I'm even here, but can't quite

come up with an answer. I could kill him right now if I wanted to, with that pretty little knife he got me.

But I know that in the end we are too codependant on one another. We will never be able to kill each

other. We will have to die together in a burning white light. We are two mortals that truely deserve a

god's death, he tells me. Trust me, he tells me. And I do, because I have nothing else left in the world to

And sitting in this damp motel bed, I know that I will never be able to leave him, because we were

destined for a life of hell from the first time we ever met.

(+)

YELLOW

If you can picture the most typical high school house party, you can picture how we met.

It just so happens that the night in which I felt the most confident, I meet him. He leans against the

sink in the kitchen, so cool under the dim lights. Looking ever so plain, yet still ever so different from

the other occupants of the event. A hero walking amongst men, with crooked teeth and an even more

We hit it off instantly. I'm not sure who started swinging punches first. It is only when I am spitting

blood into the gutter out front that he asks me my name.

He says he was sorry for what he said. Yeah right, I say. Even then I can tell that he was filled with

the dark, oozing danger that my mother always warned me about. He asks me how I got the scars on

my legs, and Poison Ivy, is the only this I manage to grit out, too angry to give him what he wants.

His nose looks broken, gushing red over his chin to drip in a little puddle at his feet. Despite this, he

is still grinning, and in the distance I can hear a siren. It's telling me to get back. But I can't help but

notice how comfortable he looks in blood.

And it's in those suburban streets that I feel my heart lurch up into my throat, because I am already in

love and I don't even know his name.

(+)

BLUE 

The first time he shows me a body it's a cold winter night.

I'm wearing his parka that his mother gave him, a Christmas present and he's wearing a thin sweater.

I am holding tightly onto his hand as he leads me down the path to the river behind his house. I wonder

how he is still radiating heat in such freezing weather.

You're gonna love this, he tells me with a toothy grin. I feel a little like I might throw up, and I

haven't even seen it yet. Something about this night is eminating a bad taste into my mouth.

The body is a girl, and her lips are as blue as my mother's eyes. I try not to think of her as a person,

just a body. A blue, red and white body. God bless America. We had to dig in the snow to find her. I

know that the next time she will be seen is after the snow melts. And by then, he whispers against my

ear, pressing me to his chest, we will already be gone.

I shut my eyes tight, and wonder how this happened. Life is such an easy thing to snuff out, I will

find this out very soon in the future. But for now this is only proof of what I already know. He kisses

me on my cold mouth, and for a second I am the body, limp and dead in his grip.

(+)

ORANGE

The sky is exploding under fireworks the night we leave. Too many bodies pile up eventually, and

word gets around town. Rumours, rumours, rumours. Happy New Year.

His car is going well over the speed limit, but the highways are empty, so there is no one to stop us.

We have our bags in the back, and hands tightly wound together between us. I'm going to give us a

good life, he tells me. But I know he loves blood lust more than me. I know a good life means

something different to him, so I don't expect much.

My parents are probably celebrating right now with champagne. I imagine that they are celebrating

my leaving, but at this point they are still oblivious to my after school activities. They do not know that

had to bleach my nice white dress to get the blood out. They do not know that all of the reports on the

I think about the stranger that we have tied up in the trunk. I almost feel like reminding him that

she's still there. But for now he is too happy, that I simply cannot bring myself to speaking.

Happy New Year, I murmur to the fireworks through the windshield.
(+)

GREEN

I had the childhood of a heavenbound angel.

Everything was serene and perfect. I lived with my parents and grandparents, far up north. We went

to church every sunday, and listened to the pastor speak of sins and eternal damnation. I knew even

then that there was something horrible in the core of my being, but for my mother's sake, I tried to

It was only a matter of time before my hellish roots finally showed themselves.

Raspberries become ripe in July. My basket was spilled all over the forest floor, and I was wrestling

to get free of our neighbors son. He was a year older than I was, and had stockier arms. His hand

grabbed at the hem of my best dress. I remember kicking at him, struggling to get my hands free to

scratch him with my nails. In the distance birds chirped, and I saw white.

My mother discovered the poison ivy a few days later. I told her that I had been off the path, I did not

want to tell her about the neighbors son. I apologized for not bringing home raspberries.

I still have the scars on my legs from scratching at them.

(+)


PURPLE

There's a bruise under his eye when he comes home. Home is just another dismal motel room on our

journey. He sits down on the edge of the bed and runs a hand through my hair. This one was a real

fighter, he tells me. I try and pretend he isn't talking about killing.

He lays down beside me, and together we watch today's news report. The world is still filled with

awful things, we just contribute to the awfulness. The police are still after us, and my mother's

interview from a few days ago plays again. She's crying and telling me to come home. I feel no

empathy towards her. I am not the child she raised.

I sometimes hope that we get caught. I hope the police shoot us down or take us away to seperate

prisons forever. It would be like Bonnie and Clyde. How ironic that that was my mother's favourite

I shut my eyes and roll over onto my side.

There's a siren in the distance, and I faintly hope that it's coming for us.

Endocrine by Emma Mills


hiding in the forest as she holds your hand so delicately in her's

“this is going to hurt a little,”

she tells you, sliding her anthame between your pressed palms

your entire body tenses at the slice, her's stays totally still

she places the now damp knife on the forest floor,

letting pine needles stick to the blood

you can feel your blood mingling together and you feel a

little sick to your stomach

she leans in and kisses you very lightly on your mouth,

almost like a formality

when she pulls back she stands, pulling you up to your feet with her

“you okay?”

she asks and you nod, a little dizzy

“i did this because i love you,”

she tells you, and you nod again,

because you know, oh god do you know

you look in your mirror when you get home

and you notice that you have lipstick smudged around your mouth

it's not yours.