VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: ‘Split’ depicts nature reclaiming the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: As Jane walked across the pavement, weeds tore through the fractures, transforming the road into a thin,…
As Jane walked across the pavement, weeds tore through the fractures, transforming the road into a thin, green-streaked ribbon of grey. Even now, after all this time, ash still drifted through the streets. With each gust of dusty wind that whipped around her, she buried her head and mouth deeper into the thin, cotton embrace of her scarf.
Far ahead, stood the old market that used to be the heart of the town; despite the sun being suffocated by black smoke, the big FM sign stood out, with a single light flickering in the car park above. This time ten years ago, these very streets would be bustling with people of all backgrounds enjoying the area's culinary delights; most sat alone, but they still smiled at those around them. The Vietnamese uncles and aunties would stand outside, discussing everything from the lack of food to the disasters back home. Hundreds of feet created a dull patter against the concrete, interweaving with the conversations to create the sound that defined the once vibrant streets of Footscray.
The oppressive heat distracted her, plastering her hair to her back as the sun shone down on the market. She pushed forward, clinging to the pouch her mother gave her, arms throbbing from the weight. Her legs seemed to keep moving onwards, aching for the sanctuary from the harsh heat inside. A restaurant had a storefront sign hanging above. It was a faded red, cracked and crumbling at the edges, yet the golden foreign characters remained visible. They were in a language she had long forgotten, yet their unfamiliarity beckoned her inside. Within the store, the right-hand corner of the roof had caved in, allowing the contents of the store above to pile down. On the opposite side, a baby sapling emerged from the tiles. It was still thin and lacking leaves, fragile as a glass pane in a storm.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: This is a section B personal journeys…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Often, the prevailing misconception is that navigating a personal journey is about "finding" yourself, but…
Often, the prevailing misconception is that navigating a personal journey is about "finding" yourself, but rather the way an individual chooses to respond to challenges moulds their identity. In this sense, personal identity is not simply 'found' but actually constructed through moments of adversity. Yet, this can only be obtained once an individual adopts multiple perspectives, as one narrow perspective can act as a barrier to one's path of constructing their identity. One bold example could be the character of Scrooge from Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol, who, through many pains of the past, present, and future, constructs a new identity, changing from a grumpy, greedy, isolated man to a more joyful, generous, and kind-hearted soul. Dickens shows how a response to adversity
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Protest piece on title "Making…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Making History You are walking home from your local train station after a long day of work. You are exhausted.…
Making History
You are walking home from your local train station after a long day of work. You are exhausted. Yet still, when you hear a car door slam, you jolt and your heart rate spikes. With no police officers and very few people around, subconsciously, you find yourself listening out for the rhythm of footsteps, you grip your keys like a weapon, you quicken your pace hoping to not become another statistic. Whether you realise it or not, it is because of the now brutal reality that safety is no longer a guarantee like it was historically, but rather a lottery, and your luck may have just run out.
Speaker, the issue we discuss today is the Youth Justice Amendment Bill. This is the bill that is marketed as the saviour to our problems. But how can we trust them when they are the very architects of it? While some people are able to see how safety has become a luxury and are protesting for change, too many are oblivious, until it hits them or someone they love. The status quo signals that this inaction and exponential growth of youth crime will lead to a future with the same problems, unless action is taken and we set our priorities straight. This is a future we need to make a distant thought in the past. It's no longer a policy, but a human rights issue, and it’s our time to change this, starting by making sure this bill is history. But let me lambast why:
Well, first let’s address the elephant in the room: the "machete bins." Is there anything more ironically representative of the opposition’s failure than a $325,000 high-tech rubbish bin? They are literally asking criminals to "recycle" their violence.
[Interjection - We have been seeing them work]
Speaker, do we honestly expect a youth offender, high on the adrenaline of a three-state car chase, to stop and politely dispose of his blade in a government-sanctioned litter box? It is not just naive; it is an insult to the intelligence of every Victorian.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “There is no greater high then…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: English timed practice SAC - part 1 Title: Victory The following emails were siezed and redacted by The…
English timed practice SAC - part 1
Title: Victory
The following emails were siezed and redacted by The former Russian intelligence agency; Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki (SVR) under Putins rule. These emails written by whistleblower, Elza Kazanen from 2023 to 2024, have since been unredacted to convey how oppressive the previous government was, however, these redactions have been represented by outlines. These files were ordered to be released by Justice Minister, Alexander Svezheniye on the 11th of March, 2031.
To: AnnieJones@gmail.com.au
From: Elza.Kazanen@yahoo.com.au
Subject: (no subject)
Date: 16/07/2023
My dearest, Annie.
I hope this email doesn't come as a suprise, and your mother, my sister did indeed inform you, that this shall be my preferred form of communication for the forseeable future. I have been forced to swith, I was getting quite tiresome of constantly having my letters returned, with the seal tarnished. I mean, for goodness sake! All I have done, that is remotely 'anti government' is arrange and attend For Fair Elections in 2011! I do think that they have me on some form of list, it feels as though they are attempting to torture me to death, at this stage, they might as well given me a prison sentence! It would have been shorter and less painless than taking away my dear letters.
Anyways, enough of my complaining, how is Australia? I have heard that Melbourne is particularly freezing around this time of year. I do miss voting, the sound of tram bells, the salty air around the beach, and that beautiful Russian bakery in Bentleigh East. I dream one day of the warm, fiery freedoms of Australia being flown to Russia, melting the ice of oppression. When I last visted in 2019, all I could think about was challenging the oppressive government and tearing it down, to build the Russia I dream of.
Do you remember Alex? The handsome neighbor boy (who is your age), well he has very kindly set up a VPN on my computer so I can speak more freely to you than ever before! He also introduced me to a resistance, called "The Anti-corruption Foundation" or FBK, it wants to make an impact through reason, and not violence, it wants to convert the Russian people to fight peacefully for a free Russia! I found it quite intriguing, a nobody, like
Before you attempt to talk me out of it, I have not come to a decision about it yet, it may be the chance to craft the Russia I dream of.
A Russia where the people are able to publish what ever they so choose to, without fear of assassination from the SVR. I look back to eighteen year old poor me, who had to suffer the consequences of my Mother publishing anti government and corruption articles. I feel deeply saddened for my sister, who grew into her teenage years without a mother to guide her.
Speaking of my Mother, I recently went to visit her on the thirty-ninth anniversary of her death, and there happened to be a dead bird placed in front of her grave. Her grave is located around on two hours drive from St Petersburg along the Gulf of Finland, in a very small cemetery, and she just happened to be a notorious anti-government journalist. This was the SVR, I have a deep feeling.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: 'A game of laughter, a dance of glee,…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Some say that play is freeing, that it is when one can be truly at peace, but yet something so uplifting can…
Some say that play is freeing, that it is when one can be truly at peace, but yet something so uplifting can also be incredibly unforgiving, and can break people down more than build them up.
Anyone who has ever experienced a devastating sporting, academic or any other loss, knows that in that moment, play becomes anything but fun. It shifts itself into a pain that runs through you, one that cannot be explained or stopped. Tightening your chest and throat, mouth running dry, unable to speak, feeling nothing but helpless in those minutes after a crushing defeat. But yet coaches, parents, players and supporters alike all have the same motto, “have fun!”, and “don’t take it too seriously!” Yet when it comes down to crunch time, when it comes to winning and losing, I guarantee all would pick to win, and if you do lose, then you become scrutinized beyond belief. Take a look at elite sporting coaches for instance, their team loses a few games in a row, and every man and their dog comes for their job (and their neck). You have to concede that this would not be the ideal “fun” time for these individuals, with the thought of the walls around closing in on them. Doesn’t exactly sound free, does it?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework of idea protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Account: Fatemehpasandideh10 9.4 K followers following 189 69 Posts Sportsperson Daughter of Iran Footballer…
Account: Fatemehpasandideh10
9.4 K followers following 189
69 Posts
Sportsperson
Daughter of Iran
Footballer
Location: Australia AU
Instagram Post: Insert Title of SAC eg ‘Defiance’ ‘Loud Voices’ ‘Every Voice Matters’
Caption:
My heart is full of gratitude today, and I know deep down, for now, everything will be okay. Thank you to my new family, the Brisbane Roar soccer club, for accepting me into your team. When I first started playing women’s football for Bam Khatoon as a midfielder, nothing could have prepared me for the moment I received my first Australian jersey. Receiving that jersey coincided with something far greater, being granted refuge here in Australia under a humanitarian visa. But with that privilege comes responsibility. Sport is often imagined as existing outside of protest, a space of fair competition, respect and clear boundaries, yet it is also an embodiment of society itself, reflecting its values, tensions and injustices and therefore cannot be seen as untouched by the ongoing conflicts that affect the real people involved or untouched by the need to challenge these injustices.
I feel it is important to explain my decision, and the decision of my teammates, to abstain from singing the Iranian national anthem before our match at the Asia Cup earlier this year. This was not spontaneous. It was not emotional. It was not careless. It was a predetermined decision, made together, with full awareness of the risks. We understood what silence might cost us, contracts, careers, and the safety of those we love. We were inspired by those who came before us, those who protested not with violence, but with sacrifice. Women like Emmeline Pankhurst, who endured hunger strikes to demand a voice. Afghan refugees in Woomera who sewed their lips together to expose injustice. The German national team who covered their mouths to protest being silenced on the world stage. Each act was different. Each act was criticised. Each act was questioned. But each act forced the world to look.
We have been silenced. So our response was to reclaim some control and ironically choose silence ourselves. Silence over violence all the while recognising that silence taken too far, can be akin to being a bystander. To be complacent is to be complicit. Some may ask what is the point, what does this achieve? We stood on that field as athletes, but the real battle was not the game. It was happening beyond the stadium, in our homes, our streets, our country. Our silence was not absence. It was presence. A refusal to remain silent when faced by our country’s dehumanising regime. Protest is not always loud. It does not always block roads or fill streets. Sometimes it is quiet. Sometimes it is restrained. Sometimes it is a moment that passes quickly but lingers far longer in the minds of those who witnessed it. We used the only thing we had at that moment, visibility. Not to solve everything. But to refuse to pretend. I have used my body, like others before me, on the sporting field, like others before me, to send a message.
#WomanLifeFreedom #SilenceSpeaks #StandForIran
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VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Folio 1: Joy in the natural world / ,…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Sam’s world was a construction of fluorescent hums and the rhythmic pulse of New York traffic far below. As he…
Sam’s world was a construction of fluorescent hums and the rhythmic pulse of New York traffic far below. As he gripped his reflective suitcase, his Italian loafers moved silently across the office carpet; a surface as manicured as his reputation. A brief, curated nod to the intern was all that was required to spark a familiar flame of envy. After all, it was a normality Sam had come to accept. To the world, he was the blueprint for success; a penthouse overlooking Manhattan and a face that seemed carved for the silver screen. It was hard to believe ‘perfection’ didn't exist, yet as the elevator doors slid shut, the reflection staring back at him felt like a hollow shell of a man he no longer recognised.
The crisp office air was blurred with the strong scent of boiled sausages. City lights, generally blinding, dimmed a shade of grey. ‘The city that never sleeps’, a place yearned by those behind the screens in their comforted home. Yet, not even in sleep, or his bed did Sam find a moment of solace. With each step on his detour home, gravity had seemed to push him further into the concrete.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Folio 1: Joy in the natural world / ,…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: The unbillable hour Sam’s world was a construction of fluorescent hums and the rhythmic pulse of New York…
The unbillable hour
Sam’s world was a construction of fluorescent hums and the rhythmic pulse of New York traffic far below. As he gripped his reflective suitcase, his Italian loafers moved silently across the office carpet; a surface as manicured as his reputation. A brief, curated nod to the intern was all that was required to spark a familiar flame of envy. After all, it was a normality Sam had come to accept. To the world, he was the blueprint for success; a penthouse overlooking Manhattan and a face that seemed carved for the silver screen. It was hard to believe ‘perfection’ didn't exist, yet as the elevator doors slid shut, the reflection staring back at him felt like a hollow shell of a man he no longer recognised.
The crisp office air, blurred with the strong scent of boiled sausages. City lights, generally blinding, dimmed a shade of grey. ‘The city that never sleeps’, a place yearned by those behind the screens in their comforted home. Yet, not even in sleep, or his bed did Sam find a moment of solace. With each step on his detour home, gravity had seemed to push him further into the concrete.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The title was independence and the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Independence Dear diary. Entry 184 3/6/25 I have been thinking a lot lately, thinking in ways that can only…
Independence
Dear diary. Entry 184 3/6/25
I have been thinking a lot lately, thinking in ways that can only be described as a rock being thrown out at sea. Would that rock ever be found again? I’ve been told to put my thoughts into words, but it seems there is no escape from my own mind. I’ve done it hundreds of times now, how are written words supposed to help when there feels to be a piece of me missing. I don’t know exactly where I lost it, but when I look around at the adults that surround me whether at work or on the bus ride home it seems that they are all also missing that piece. I don’t know what part is missing or if I’m at fault for taking it out, not that I remember when this part of me was actually lost. It’s probably my fault; everything has always felt a way to lean to be my fault. I hope one day it doesn’t feel like my fault, and I hope on that day I stop writing in this stupid dam diary.
I could be like the kid from the Diary of a Wimpy kid books, call it a journal instead of a diary. But I’m not a liar, it’s a diary like the way a branch is a big stick, you could argue it’s just a big stick and it could be considered a big stick but at the end of the day it’s just a branch. I think I’m envious of the kid from the Diary of a Wimpy kid books, not because he chooses to call his diary a journal but because he is allowed to. When you’re that young it’s okay to try and pretend to be who ever you want, it’s the little independence that you hold at that day. To imagine all the possibilities your imagination holds. I’m envious that I have lost that independence. I like to think I remember the days where I had no worries, but I worried a lot as a kid, it’s just those worries don’t amount to the stress I hold at my ground age. I shouldn’t be too harsh on myself, the big brown bear that was definitely in the frightening forest down faber lane was one hundred percent out to get me, even if I did live in Australia.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Writing about the future
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: INT. APARTMENT. MORNING Bare walls. No decorations. A calendar by the door, flipped months ahead. A suitcase…
INT. APARTMENT. MORNING
Bare walls. No decorations. A calendar by the door, flipped months ahead. A suitcase sits half-unpacked in the corner.
ADAM eats standing up, looking at the city through the window. His laptop is on the ground, already open. On the screen- “TOP CITIES TO LIVE IN YOUR 20S”. Adam’s phone buzzes.
TERESA: (Text) Hey Adam dinner tonight?
Adam reads it. He doesn’t reply. He continues scrolling as he faces his phone down.
ADAM: (Dismissive) I’ll reply later.
INT. APARTMENT. LATE AFTERNOON
ADAM is sitting against a pile of sealed cardboard boxes with ‘LIVING ROOM’ labelled. He is fixated on his computer screen. He scrolls through guides- “BEST APARTMENT PROPERTIES IN 2026”, “BEST SPACES TO LIVE IN CBD”.
ADAM: (Typing) Single bedroom apartment city centre available now.
A ray of light from the sunset hits his eyes. Adam winces and gets up to draw the blinds down. He returns to sitting on the floor.
Adam stares are the two results that popped up.
ADAM: (Sighs) Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.
Adam’s phone rings.
ADAM: (Picks up) Hey Teresa, what’s up.
TERESA (Over the phone) Adam, you haven’t been responding to my texts.
ADAM: (Hesitant) I’ve been…Unpacking.
Adam looks at the stacks of closed boxes, the blue plastic peel on his appliances, the pile of letters by his door.
TERESA: Oh okay, I’ll leave you to it. Call me when you’re free.
ADAM: Yeah got it. I’ll catch you later.
Adam looks at his phone, then at his laptop. Both devices are almost drained of battery.
INT. APARTMENT. NIGHT
The room is dimly lit by the laptop. Multiple tabs are open. Spreadsheets, budgets, apartment floor plans.
ADAM: (Types quickly) This should be fine. Oh wait, I need to change this.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Stimulus 1 ‘You cannot swim for new…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Leap of faith The noises of ‘fitting in’ drowned me. The BBQ felt like a chorus of forced laughter. Patties…
Leap of faith
The noises of ‘fitting in’ drowned me. The BBQ felt like a chorus of forced laughter. Patties were being flipped, and with every sizzle my anger grew.
“Yo manky, how long has it been since you washed that pump cover,” Jarred chuckled pretentiously.
I clenched my fists, trying not to stand up and knock jarred out at the mention of my newest nickname, instead like always I sat quietly accepting the inevitable. I knew what would happen if I tried fighting back, I would be left all alone.
I instinctively pulling at the oversized sleeves of my hoodie, further retreating into its comfort. I’d always thought a pump cover was something you’d use to hide a nice physique, but Jarred, in his usual fashion, had turned it into a mockery.
“Haha nice one dingus,” I said, in a irritable tone. My blood boiled. It was the ultimate sacrifice—my false sense of security for endless torment.
This was a never-ending story for me. Over the years I had grown accustomed to such ‘banter’. After years of being ridiculed. I thought “maybe this time it’ll be better”. Nevertheless, I was always proven wrong. Relentlessly, they would make fun of my body, my name, my hobbies and all I would do is simply retreat into my false sense of security—my pump cover.
I promised to stand up for myself every time, but like always I was too afraid, too afraid to trust myself.
I knew this wasn’t healthy but it felt like there was no way out.
The time was 3.30, the woody aroma from my perfume could be smelt a mile away. My pump cover slid down my back as I heard a knock on the door.
The rhythmic knock immediately gave away who was behind the door. As I went to go open the door I was met with Leo’s overbearing and joyful face.
“You ready to head off, Mankaran?”
“I’m ready” I said in a monotone voice.
Leo’s ushered me towards his car. He could tell something was wrong.
As I plonked down on the passenger seat I sank into my pit of despair. I tried pretending like nothing was wrong—but I knew, he could see through the flimsy walls I put up for others.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong or do I gotta interrogate you CIA style?” said Leo jokingly
“Nothing,” I said.
“Nothing?”
“Yeah nothing”
“That’s absolute bullshit mate, have some faith in me”
“No, I promise there’s nothing wrong I’m just a bit tired or something”
“Look, if there’s anything I’ve learnt about you in the fourteen years we’ve known each other is when you bullshit me— so either you tell me what’s going on or I turn the car back around right now.”
“OKAY FINE—You really wanna know?”
“Yeah I really wanna know?” Leo exasperated.
“I’m tired of Jarred and the group”
“They make these jokes and think that it’s all ‘love’ but really they don’t give a shit about me—I don’t know what to do, I feel stuck but I don’t know how to get past this.”
“You think I don’t know this?” Leo said annoyingly
“I’ve been knowing this since the start, I’ve just been waiting for you to come to the same realisation.”
“You’ve gotta stop letting those douchebags get the better of you.”
“You need to understand that you don’t need them.”
“That false sense of ‘acceptance’ you feel every time they include you in activities is nothing but a ploy to make sure their entertainment does not leave.”
“You KNOW what your potential is, you KNOW you deserve better than whatever fake sense of acceptance these douchebags give you.”
“Stop letting them win—leave them in the past and never look back.”
“I get what your saying but its not that simple”—Ching, my phone interrupted.
“Who is it?” asked Leo as he glanced over trying to see into my phone.
“It’s jarred asking how much longer till we get there”
“what are you going to say?” asked Leo hoping that something was understood by my thick skull.
“Im gonna text him, we’re 5 minutes away”
Leo let out a deep sigh.
I could feel the disappointment in the air.
Leo’s face went black as my mind raced.
“Is Leo right?”
“Do I need this false sense of acceptance?”
“Am I better off just focusing on myself?”
All these unanswered questions drilled deep into my skull.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “People tend to forget that play is…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: They told us to stop playing and start being serious. I spent thirteen years trying to work out what that meant…
They told us to stop playing and start being serious. I spent thirteen years trying to work out what that meant — and I'm still not sure they were right.
I want to tell you about a moment from Year 7. It was lunchtime, and a group of us had decided — for reasons that made complete sense at the time — to build a city out of milk cartons behind the science block. We had zoning laws. We had a mayor. We argued for twenty minutes about whether the library should go near the oval. We weren't doing anything useful. We weren't preparing for anything. And it was, I think, one of the most genuinely intelligent things I did in six years of secondary school.
Because we were practising something that no class explicitly taught us: how to make something from nothing, how to negotiate, how to care about an idea enough to defend it. We just didn't call it that. We called it playing.
We came into this world knowing nothing but play. We learned language through it, learned trust through it, learned who we were through it. And then, somewhere along the way, we were handed a timetable and told that was over. Today, as we leave, I want to ask: what if it never had to be?
Consider what it actually means to play. It means attempting something with no guarantee of success. It means building the tower, and then — deliberately — knocking it down, just to see if you can build it higher next time. Every scientist who has ever changed the world did so by playing: by asking what if, by refusing to accept that the answer was already known.
We talk about 'the real world' as if it is a place that exists beyond the classroom gates — serious, unforgiving, certain. But the real world, if we are honest, is nothing but an elaborate game whose rules keep changing. The people who thrive in it are not the ones who stopped playing. They are the ones who never forgot how.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “People tend to forget that play is…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: They told us to stop playing and start being serious. I spent thirteen years trying to work out what that meant…
They told us to stop playing and start being serious. I spent thirteen years trying to work out what that meant — and I'm still not sure they were right.
We came into this world knowing nothing but play. We learned language through it, learned trust through it, learned who we were through it. And then, somewhere along the way, we were handed a timetable and told that was over. Today, as we leave, I want to ask: what if it never had to be?"
Consider what it actually means to play. It means attempting something with no guarantee of success. It means building the tower, and then — deliberately — knocking it down, just to see if you can build it higher next time. Every scientist who has ever changed the world did so by playing: by asking what if, by refusing to accept that the answer was already known.
We talk about 'the real world' as if it is a place that exists beyond the classroom gates — serious, unforgiving, certain. But the real world, if we are honest, is nothing but an elaborate game whose rules keep changing. The people who thrive in it are not the ones who stopped playing. They are the ones who never forgot how.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Mentor text: "The Yellow Wallpaper".…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: It’s happening again. I look away for one second. And it appears. I look away for one second. And my head…
It’s happening again.
I look away for one second. And it appears.
I look away for one second. And my head splits.
Shaking. Rumbling. As if in a rage.
Not a rage of fury, but a rage of knowledge.
It feels like I know everything. And yet nothing at all.
I don’t remember how long I’ve been here for.
Days have blended into one.
What a cliche for someone like me!
I wish I could see myself. And even though I can’t, I know what I look like.
My swollen, bloodshot eyes. Eyes. How they compel me!
It happens again.
I look at it. I look away. I can’t.
There’s a pattern in the yellow. There has always been a pattern. I see it in the way you see a face in the bark of a tree.
And then the bark becomes just bark again.
Only now, the pattern is not a face. It is more like -
More like a form of grammar. A logic beneath the surface, and the longer I follow one strand of it, the more I understand that I am not reading it so much as being read by it.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: play Title: ‘Life is a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Life is a Game Red dirt kicked up from underneath my tires, coating not only my ute but my forearm resting out…
Life is a Game
Red dirt kicked up from underneath my tires, coating not only my ute but my forearm resting out the window in the red dust I had known too well. The gum trees along the road appeared as they always had withered, thirsty yet sturdy and resilient. The road was almost identical to the last time I had been on it. Lost behind years of the opening of train doors and the scurry of commuters, the distant memory of the property I was pulling into flooded back. Pushing the gate open, the squeak that filled my childhood years was just the same. However that seemed about it. The patio had caved in. Gone. The cricket pitch Dad and I had worn into the ground and yet adored so much was now overgrown with invasive wild shrubbery. The makeshift cricket bat my Dad made out of a plank of wood was nowhere to be seen. The times where we had to hand make our toys came flooding back; makeshift balls, bats, stumps. That was the only time I truly felt like myself, when my brother, Father and I would play cricket. Everything else seemed to immediately disappear. All gone. The windows were boarded and the door falling off the hinges almost as if it had nothing left to protect. No sign of life. Nothing. Just still, stale air.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Considering a challenge in your own…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: It’s dark. The frisk, unsettling air quietly gathered around me as it inched slower underneath my hidden…
It’s dark. The frisk, unsettling air quietly gathered around me as it inched slower underneath my hidden warmth. Cold air clung onto my face and sucked out all the heat from it. It felt uneasy. Unexpectedly, a screech from outside pierced my ears. It sounded so … lifeless and ominous.I peeked out my window, struggling to figure what monstrosity created such forbidding noise.
And there it was. Camouflaged behind the tree’s shadow’s like it was its shadow. The menacing creature stared at me. It seemed like the light died down where the bird stood still. Its claws-razor sharp, tightly digging in the tree to stay straight. Its feather seemed straight out of the darkness of a black hole and all light seemed to disappear near it.
“What the hell” as I thought to myself.
My room door was slammed open.
“Wake up! I am not going to drop you if you do not get ready on time!” yelled my mum. And then for the next few minutes she lectured me on how I should “set a bloody alarm”.
“Ugh I hate you so much. Stop lecturing me just because I forgot once!”. Her eyes widened and then she stomped out of the room.
I look back outside, at the tree however there is no evidence of the bird. It had disappeared. The sky looked so mundane and gray, as if someone had drowned it with a harrowing pain and suffering . The clouds suffocated the sun as only a handful rays of sunshine pierced through the wall of clouds. What a great way to start a day.
I rushed to get ready, shoving my books and laptop in my backpack in one hand while juggling my ironed uniform in the other. As I walking out my front door to my car, I caught a glimpse of something unusual.
My mother loved plants. She poured her whole heart into nursing them rather than on me. Everyday when leaving, they sparked like diamonds with their ruby red petals. However, today it was different. One of the petals had disappeared from the stem. Instead it laid lifeless on the floor, without its colour.
I shrugged it off.
I opened the car door and stood in front of the gates. The clouds had now fully choked out the sun as there were no signs of the sunrays. I ignored it and entered the gates and I gripped my backpack for another day of pain and struggle.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: write about death as the end of a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: “When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are.” - Donald Miller
“When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are.” - Donald Miller
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: To create a 700-900 word written piece…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: I want you all to look behind me. Look at that building. They call it the "People's House.” It is supposed to…
I want you all to look behind me. Look at that building. They call it the "People's House.” It is supposed to be a symbol of the American Dream, the ethos that anyone in the U.S., regardless of background, can achieve upward mobility, prosperity, and a better life through hard work, determination, and initiative.
Yet three weeks ago, I was standing in a security line at Dulles Airport, just a few miles from where we stand now. I was just trying to get home for my cousin's wedding. But while everyone else walked through the scanners, I was pulled aside. Again. I stood there for twenty minutes while a stranger in a uniform went through my luggage piece by piece. They looked through my clothes, my books and my prayer beads. They treated my body like a threat and my heritage like a problem to be solved. They checked everything because they were looking for a danger that wasn't there.
As I stood there humiliated in that sterile terminal, I couldn't stop thinking about the irony of this moment. Our government will spend 20 minutes meticulously profiling a 20-year-old student but they won’t check the power of the man inside that White House to drop a 12 billion dollar bomb on a country half a world away. Is this the “land of the free” we were promised? They check my bag for a threat, while they provide the missiles that pose a threat to so many people there.
My name is Khadija Muhammad. I have Iranian blood, but I am a daughter of this Republic. I grew up here, just like you. I pledged allegiance to the same flag. I dreamed the same dreams. But I look out at you, and I don't see a threat. I see the heart of this Republic. I see the doctors, the teachers, the students, and the voters who refuse to be silenced. I see your hands weathered and cold gripped tight around those plastic megaphones. I see your grip on those plywood boards. And I can read your words from here
They say: ‘No Kings in a Republic.’ They say: ‘Dissent is Patriotism.’ They say: ‘My Heritage is Not Your Battlefield.’
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Stories of the untold: Stimulus 1:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Stories of the Untold There was a quote I heard from renowned author Lloyd Alexander. He stated … “the journey…
Stories of the Untold
There was a quote I heard from renowned author Lloyd Alexander.
He stated … “the journey is the treasure”
We all go through life collecting stories, where some are told and others are kept deep in the chambers of one's heart, never to be forgotten.
For me that story was about self-discovery and finding a purpose in life.
And today is the day, where the chamber’s gates get unlocked to reveal a story so you can write yours.
This story is mine.
A story of a boy…
Who found light in dark.
Stood ground against cruel world.
And filled an empty soul.
My life was mindless and hollow from the inside. It was like driftwood, simply carried by the current of the sea, bobbing aimlessly washed up on a shore it didn’t choose to be in.
Nothing changes… You walk the same streets, sit in the same classroom, talk to the same people, life is plain, bored…… Ordinary.
But then something forces you to stop. A spark.
For me, that spark wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a cinematic turning point. It was realisation. Simple, uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.
Every single person will experience the same two events.
We live.
And we die.
Right now, you would be asking what living and dying got to do with my journey of self-discovery?
Well around the age of fourteen when I was an ‘empty shell’ I was lying in bed sinking my bottom in the plushness of the mattress, with my spine shaped across the fabric headboard. My laptop on my thighs acting as a fireless fireplace playing an anime.
The anime was about a boy who transforms from an innocent and cheerful child into a ragefilled, vengeance-seeking elite viking warrior obsessed with avenging the murder of his father. Following many struggles such as slavery, trauma and the loss of his purpose during his infamous child soldier arc. He matures into a thoughtful young man, seeking to establish a peaceful, non-violent colony, embodying and restoring his father’s will and pride of being a “true warrior”.
Why is this relevant?
It’s relevant, because it highlights the importance of finding purpose. It provides real-world insight that challenges are always going to come, its your job to stay steadfast to overcome them in order to write your story.
But what stuck with me the most from watching this anime was he understood the meaning of life and death, which led him to finding his purpose.
I still remember when he quoted.
“Why do we have to fear death? Do we live because we don’t want to die? Does anything good come from being alive?”
As soon as he finished saying that, everything froze, time stopped. Suddenly, my heart rate increased, the feeling was unexplainable. It was like a butterfly breaking through cacoon.
Rebirth.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The prompt was to create a short…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: The doctor's words were a frost that chilled my life. They settled into the corners of the living room, f…
The doctor's words were a frost that chilled my life. They settled into the corners of the living room, f turning the air hard in my chest. The role I had begun to find an odd comfort in felt as though it were being ripped away, usurped by a shadow I could not yet name. Like a family tree wilting, the bark was falling off to uncover their raw, newfound dynamic of carer and cared for.
This sickness is the most malevolent thing to be placed upon this family. I've watched my father over the past two months since the diagnosis,a t stage one; he still holds his glass like a man who owns his body, though those hinges rusting, I know the trust. The doors have begun to stick. As if the metal is faltering with my fathers tears caused byt his loss.. I first blamed him for getting sick. Ruge bubbled at every favor asked; helping him to bed, cooking dinner, and even the simple act of passing his water.
Yet, I found a sense of self through these tasks uncovering a maternal instinct where the act of giving grew into accomplishment. I became the sole architect of his care. But people subconsciously send out sos signals in times of need, a call to anything willing to listen. In desperation, a man will take any aid given, even from the earth itself.
The graden has begun to answer him
I noticed it first at the edges. The ivy on the walls, creeping up with an intentionality unfit to the season, its vines finding the windowsill like fingers seeking a steady grip. The old elm shunned into the corner of the yard, casting a shadow at an angle uncorrelated to the time of day. I have stood with my back towards the trunk, squinting at the sky, trying to understand it. The shadow falls where it chooses, offering no explanation.
He spends hours out there now. On his good days, he moves between the beds with a tender authority. On his bad days, he simply stands on the terrace, overlooking the garden, his face wearing a mask of solemnity. When I ask what he sees, he simply tells me “nothing”. Though I have learnt that his nothings are heavy with somethings now. Silence not as a dismissal, but as a wall.
Inside, I flail for the territory of his care. Scrubbing with intent until the ceramic gleams, trying to wash away the metallic scent of his tremors, though the air has been shifting. The scent of amber and wood being choked out by something more earthy and mineral, the scent of wet stone and mildew. The floorboard outside his bedroom, the one I have spent my youth on learning to avoid, has vanished, no desperate shriek, unnervingly silent. I stepped on it today, bracing for the noise, but it responded with nothing. It has been silenced, familiarity in this house continuously diminishing.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Considering a challenge in your own…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: It’s dark. The frisk, unsettling air quietly gathered around me as it inched slower underneath my hidden…
It’s dark. The frisk, unsettling air quietly gathered around me as it inched slower underneath my hidden warmth. Cold air clinged to my face and sucked out all the heat from it. It felt uneasy. Unexpectedly, a screech from outside pierced my ears. It sounded so … lifeless and ominous.I peeked out my window, struggling to figure what monstrosity created such forbidding noise.
And there it was. Camouflaged behind the tree’s shadow’s like it was its shadow. The menacing creature stared at me. It seemed like the light died down where the bird stood still. Its claws are razor sharp, tightly digging in the tree to stay straight. Its feather seemed straight out of the darkness of a black hole and all light seemed to disappear near it.
“What the hell” as I thought to myself.
My room door was slammed open.
“Wake up! I am not going to drop you if you do not get ready on time!” yelled my mum. And then for the next few minutes she lectured me on how I should “set a bloody alarm”.
“Ugh I hate you so much. Stop lecturing me just because I forgot once!”. Her eyes widened and then she stomped out of the room.
I look back outside, at the tree however there is no evidence of the bird. It had disappeared. The sky looked so mundane and gray, as if someone had drowned it with a harrowing pain and suffering . The clouds suffocated the sun as only a handful rays of sunshine pierced through the wall of clouds. What a great way to start a day.
I hurriedly got ready, bunching my stationeries and laptop in my backpack in one hand while juggling my ironed uniform in the other. Walking out my front door to my car, I caught a glimpse of something unusual.
My mother loved plants. She poured her whole heart into nursing them rather than on me. Everyday when leaving, they sparked like diamonds with their ruby red petals. However, today it was different. One of the petals had disappeared from the stem. Instead it laid lifeless on the floor, without its colour.
I shrugged it off.
I opened the car door and stood in front of the gates. The clouds had now fully choked out the sun as there were no signs of the sunrays. I ignored it and entered the gates and I gripped my backpack for another day of pain and struggle.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Do friends or family have more…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The influence of a person’s family unit and peer group is not mutually exclusive. The debate over whether a…
The influence of a person’s family unit and peer group is not mutually exclusive. The debate over whether a child’s development is influenced more by their friendships or parental guidance presents a false dichotomy, inaccurately placing one over the other. A young person’s maturation is not a tug-of-war between competing forces, but rather an interconnected dynamic between two sides of the same coin. Family provides the foundation for behavioural patterns, attitudes and values, shaping our self-identity, emotional resilience and social skills. On the other hand, friends provide a more relevant space for identity experimentation—exploring social hierarchies, intimacy, and conflict resolution away from the watchful gaze of their ‘authority figure’. Ultimately, to achieve a healthy transition into adulthood, an adolescent requires both the predictability and safe harbour of familial guidance and the challenging relevance of peer influence. One cannot truly grow without the anchor of the former, nor the exploration of the latter.
Picture this. You’re 12 years old—your best friend, your entire life has been your mother. Everything she knows to be true, you know to be true. Everything you experience, she can recite back to you. She is your entire world—she had to be your entire world. You’ve had a few friends, but ultimately, the one you solely turn to for guidance is her. That comfort and familial guidance protect you from the uncertainties of the outside world. However, as you enter high school, start your first period, and begin to make new friends, your relationship with her shifts. She can no longer recite every part of your life. You no longer know everything that she knows to be true. More frequently, you start turning to your friends for guidance, exploring intimacy, leadership skills, and acceptable behaviours with them. It’s not that you hate your mother. It’s not that you don’t trust her. But she can’t teach you how to navigate the qualms of the modern-day adolescence period.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Task: explore the idea of the…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: This Australian Life Episode 1 – The Australian Identity Dan Chadwick: Welcome to the very first episode of…
This Australian Life
Episode 1 – The Australian Identity
Dan Chadwick: Welcome to the very first episode of This Australian Life where we discover how the multifaceted nature of the Australian identity shapes who we are today.
This week, our contributors were posed with the question – what does it mean to be Australian?
In today’s episode of This Australian Life, we explore the quintessential aspects of the Australian identity – harmony, diversity, egalitarianism and everything in between.
First up is Rayanna, a contributor from the regional city of Ballarat who paints an evocative picture of the unwavering presence of an antipodean staple in her childhood. The iconic fairy bread.
Act 1 – My Life as an Avid Fairy Bread Lover
BACKGROUND MUSIC OF THE NUTBUSH PLAYING SOFTLY OVER THE COLES SUPERMARKET LOUDSPEAKERS
Rayanna: Leisurely strolling down the aisles of my local Coles supermarket, I found my gaze veering towards the hundreds and thousands displayed on the wide shelves. In response to this sighting, nostalgia pierced through my heart as I reminisced savouring the quintessential Aussie snack – fairy bread- during my playful days as an innocent, young child. Every single time I devoured this antipodean delicacy, buttery smiles and wide grins with bits of sprinkles stuck between teeth would fill the room, filling me with pure happiness. When making fairy bread at home, I distinctly remember the scowling look on my mum’s face when I demanded her to make more fairy bread – probably more than what she could handle.
FLACKBACK TO CHILDHOOD
Rayanna: Mmmm… so yummy! Mum, make me more!
Mum: Oh c’mon. You’ve already had so many already! You are genuinely munching fairy bread down like an absolute monster! Take a bloody break! And would you wipe your mouth for god’s sake- you have sprinkles all over your face! What kind of child did I give birth to?
Rayanna: Hehe… make me more!
Mum: Fine you little rascal.
FLASHBACK ENDS
Rayanna: And so, this easy-to-make homemade snack surely was a fan-favourite amongst all Aussies and definitely had a ubiquitous presence in my childhood. I often found myself gobbling it down simply everywhere I went – at home, school or even at my favourite park!
MUSIC ENDS
Dan: Wow… seems like you really enjoy eating fairy bread.
Rayanna: Yeah mate, I sure do.
Dan: Would you mind sharing with our listeners the moment when you realised your profound love for fairy bread?
Rayanna: I vividly remember the very first time I was granted the heavenly experience of taking my first-ever bite of fairy bread. It was when I attended my best mate’s birthday party.
BACKGROUND NOISE OF YOUNG CHILDREN CHATTING
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: A person walks down a trail they have…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: It was a tranquil trail. The path, paved by eroded pebbles and unkept shrubs, a testament to the years left…
It was a tranquil trail. The path, paved by eroded pebbles and unkept shrubs, a testament to the years left neglected and forgotten. From a distance, I hear the aubade of the early birds. I stop myself dead in my tracks, allowing myself to bask in the sun’s ethereal morning glaze as the sky divided into the hues of dawn.
A saturated fuchsia splashed first upon the canvas, a bright orange — the colour of fresh marmalade, following soon after. Within an instant, the moon had been erased, like a shooting star which had lost its glow.
The air, wafting with the scent of petrichor, as the buds of the morning glories began to blossom.
I decide to get back on track, strolling through the peaceful path. Eager to see what other sights dwelled beyond the overhanging branches of cedar trees and lush foliage. I skipped along the path, embracing the long forgotten feeling of naivety, the charm of childish innocence which blinded me with rose-coloured glasses.