VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Craft a short strory in an…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: “The Howling Night” Howls fill the darkened forest around me as I sit perched up from my bed looking down at…
“The Howling Night”
Howls fill the darkened forest around me as I sit perched up from my bed looking down at the trees crowding.
I howls bellow through the forest outside my bedroom window, leaving me perched up upon my bed frozen in time. Cold prickles shoot up my arms as my eyes remain open broadshot from fear.
I gaze outside towards the deep sound ricocheting against my walls.
The silence, for a few minutes atleast, like it was the calm before the storm as the howls begin again, deep, angry, dangerous. They were coming closer and closer towards me, I can’t make nor run such in one as issues watch bet these howls of the night grow in size.
I force the bugs off from under my skin and take in a deep, calming breath while gripping the covers of my bed from under me.
“I have to go find out what it is, maybe it’s just an injured dog.”
I gather my confidence and prepare my things. An old knife that my dad scavenged through drains throughout my room, I was hoping to find some sort of weapon to defend myself throughout the night or even to just make me feel better.
Then I saw it, a light silver sparkle reflecting from the corner of my room. I reach for it and felt it’s an old lantern my reliable knife my dad had gave me when I turned 16. I quickly grab it and place it into my pocket before heading out.
As I’m walking out, as quiet as a mouse, I gently slowly creak open the seal of my window, creating enough of an open space to safely crawl out onto the dewy grass outside my window.
I leap out and safely land onto the ground, but I quickly recognise that it’s way to cold. The night sky encapsulates all of my surroundings as the forest trees around my house grow over my head.
The bugs are back crawling all over and under the raggedy shirt as I shiver. I quickly turn around and climb back into the safe half way back into my room, just enough to grab an old lantern on the sill of my window.
Not really investigating style, it was pink and sparkly in its corners with small little white flowers printed on its every edge. I was given this when I was five to keep a scary monster away as it lit up my room. Though it didn’t have a real candle inside and just a battery, it was good enough for me as I walk deeper into the night.
My lantern held in my right hand and my knife now in my left, I let out a slow steady breath. The heavy feeling in my chest now turns into heavy thumps as energy rushes over me.
I take my first step.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me.
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. From my backyard, it is easy to forget that the land beneath the grass and fences once sheltered Aboriginal communities long before Australia was ever claimed or named. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land, with Aboriginal peoples acting as custodians of Country across generations. This landscape was home to a living, interconnected society long before change arrived on the horizon. Looking out from the same space today, I reflect on how that continuity was disrupted when British ships arrived carrying a new vision of settlement and ownership. These were my ancestors, and yet their way of seeing land was shaped by control and expansion rather than the deep relational respect held by Indigenous peoples, where Country was not something to possess, but something to belong to.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful. What gives my people the right to forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes? We are equal to the Indigenous, not superior.
It began with physical land barriers that restricted Indigenous access to spiritual sites and movement within their semi-nomadic way of life, something I now understand through the concept of Country as a deep connection between land, identity and survival. This heavily hindered the Aboriginal culture as they weren’t actively able to sustain their spiritual connection to their land. Now their home that was claimed has started to be demolished, leaving none of the history to remain. Even more confronting is the violence inflicted on Indigenous communities during colonisation. Many were subjected to massacres through the British’s superior weaponry. Every single culture has the right to live their lives by their own terms, and we should not prevent people from doing so. We aren’t gods.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost a part of the land itself.
From my backyard, it is easy to forget that the land beneath the grass and fences once sheltered Aboriginal communities long before Australia was ever claimed or named. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land, with Aboriginal peoples acting as custodians of Country across generations. This landscape was home to a living, interconnected society long before change arrived on the horizon. Looking out from the same space today, I reflect on how that continuity was disrupted when British ships arrived carrying a new vision of settlement and ownership. These were my ancestors, and yet their way of seeing land was shaped by control and expansion rather than the deep relational respect held by Indigenous peoples, where Country was not something to possess, but something to belong to.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful. What gives my people the right to forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes? We are equal to the Indigenous, not superior.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost a part of the land itself.
From my backyard, it is easy to forget that the land beneath the grass and fences once sheltered Aboriginal communities long before Australia was ever claimed or named. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land, with Aboriginal peoples acting as custodians of Country across generations. This landscape was home to a living, interconnected society long before change arrived on the horizon. Looking out from the same space today, I reflect on how that continuity was disrupted when British ships arrived carrying a new vision of settlement and ownership. These were my ancestors, and yet their way of seeing land was shaped by control and expansion rather than the deep relational respect held by Indigenous peoples, where Country was not something to possess, but something to belong to.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful. What gives my people the right to forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes? We are equal to the Indigenous, not superior.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost a part of the land itself.
From my backyard, it is easy to forget that the land beneath the grass and fences once sheltered Aboriginal communities long before Australia was ever claimed or named. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land, with Aboriginal peoples acting as custodians of Country across generations. This landscape was home to a living, interconnected society long before change arrived on the horizon. Looking out from the same space today, I reflect on how that continuity was disrupted when British ships arrived carrying a new vision of settlement and ownership. These were my ancestors, and yet their way of seeing land was shaped by control and expansion rather than the deep relational respect held by Indigenous peoples, where Country was not something to possess, but something to belong to.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful. What gives my people the right to forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes? We are equal to the Indigenous, not superior.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall…
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost a part of the land itself.
From my backyard, it is easy to forget that the land beneath the grass and fences once sheltered Aboriginal communities long before Australia was ever claimed or named. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land. The Aboriginals were the custodians of the vast landscape we now call Australia. This landscape had served as the home of this society of people throughout generations. All of a sudden, things changed. Boats appeared on the horizon carrying a new generation in search for a new place to call home. They were the British. My ancestors. These people did not share the values of equality and respect with the land the indigenous did. They saw it as something they could control, colonise and conquer.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful. What gives my people the right to forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes? We are equal to the Indigenous, not superior.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost a part of the land itself.
From my backyard, it is easy to forget that the land beneath the grass and fences once sheltered Aboriginal communities long before Australia was ever claimed or named. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land. The Aboriginals were the custodians of the vast landscape we now call Australia. This landscape had served as the home of this society of people throughout generations. All of a sudden, things changed. Boats appeared on the horizon carrying a new generation in search for a new place to call home. They were the British. My ancestors. These people did not share the values of equality and respect with the land the indigenous did. They saw it as something they could control, colonise and conquer.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful. What gives my people the right to forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes? We are equal to the Indigenous, not superior.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost a part of the land itself.
From my backyard, it is easy to forget that the land beneath the grass and fences once sheltered Aboriginal communities long before Australia was ever claimed or named. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land. The Aboriginals were the custodians of the vast landscape we now call Australia. This landscape had served as the home of this society of people throughout generations. All of a sudden, things changed. Boats appeared on the horizon carrying a new generation in search for a new place to call home. They were the British. My ancestors. These people did not share the values of equality and respect with the land the indigenous did. They saw it as something they could control, colonise and conquer.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful. What gives my people the right to forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes? We are equal to the Indigenous, not superior.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost a part of the land itself.
From my backyard, it is easy to forget that the land beneath the grass and fences once sheltered Aboriginal communities long before Australia was ever claimed or named. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land. The Aboriginals were the custodians of the vast landscape we now call Australia. This landscape had served as the home of this society of people throughout generations. All of a sudden, things changed. Boats appeared on the horizon carrying a new generation in search for a new place to call home. They were the British. My ancestors. These people did not share the values of equality and respect with the land the indigenous did. They saw it as something they could control, colonise and conquer.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful, what gives my people the right to forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes. We are equal to the Indigenous, not superior.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost a part of the land itself.
Before time, Australia homed and sheltered the Aboriginals, the Indigenous community of Australia. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land. The Aboriginals were the custodians of the vast landscape we now call Australia. This landscape had served as the home of this society of people throughout generations. All of a sudden, things changed. Boats appeared on the horizon carrying a new generation in search for a new place to call home. They were the British. My ancestors. These people did not share the values of equality and respect with the land the indigenous did. They saw it as something they could control, colonise and conquer.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful, what gives my people the right to just forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more than just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully suppressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost apart of the land itself.
Before time, Australia homed and sheltered the Aboriginals, the Indigenous community of Australia. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land. The Aboriginals were the custodians of the vast landscape we now call Australia. This landscape had served as the home of this soceity of people throughout generations. All of a sudden, things changed. Boats appeared on the horizon carrying a new generation in search for a new place to call home. They were the British. My ancestors. These people did not share the values of equality and respect with the land the indigenous did. They saw it as something they could control, colonise and conquer.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful, what gives my people the right to just forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me. Opinion…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: A Land Already Living As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus…
A Land Already Living
As I take a step into my backyard, I see the gnarled bark of the ageless eucalyptus tree standing alone, tall and strong. I run my hands along the trunk of this giant, a soldier that has stood its post watching these lands long before I was born. To me, country is more then just the physical land we live on but the deeper holistic concept, the concept that was successfully supressed by my British heritage. My culture resembles a young apple tree, that was planted in place of an enormous old apple tree. Decided by the power hungry British. How dare my own people annihilate a culture already living. A culture almost apart of the land itself.
Before time, Australia homed and sheltered the Aboriginals, the Indigenous community of Australia. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land. The Aboriginals were the custodians of the vast landscape we now call Australia. This landscape had served as the home of this soceity of people throughout generations. All of a sudden, things changed. Boats appeared on the horizon carrying a new generation in search for a new place to call home. They were the British. My ancestors. These people did not share the values of equality and respect with the land the indigenous did. They saw it as something they could control, colonise and conquer.
Upon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. To Indigenous Australians, it was as if they went home, and their house had been fenced off by foreigners who claimed it was it was theirs. The British quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so. This is disgraceful, what gives my people the right to just forcefully remove the Indigenous from their own homes.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What does Country mean to me.
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Before time, Australia homed and sheltered the Aboriginals, the Indigineous community of Australia. The land…
Before time, Australia homed and sheltered the Aboriginals, the Indigineous community of Australia. The land provided for them, and they provided for the land. The Aboriginals were the custodians of the vast landspace we now call Australia. This landmass had served as the home of this community of people throughout generation. All of a sudden, things changed. Boats appeared on the horizon carrying a new generation in search for a new place to call home. They were the Brittish. These people did not share the values of equality and respect with the land the indigenous did. They saw it as something they could control, colonise and conquer.
Apon landing their boats, the land was instantly declared ‘Terra Nullius’, despite the fact people had called this land and still do call this land home. Imagine if you went home, and your house had been fenced off by a foreigner who claimed it was it was theirs now. The Brittish quickly imposed their colonial footprint, using their power to try modernise, replicate and clone the United Kingdom, not caring about any of the costs in doing so.
It originated with physical land barriers, limiting the Indigenous’ access to things such as spiritual sites and movement for their semi-nomadic lifestyle. This heavily hindered the Aboriginal culture as they weren’t actively able to practice these cultural practices. Now your home that was claimed has started to be demolished, leaving none of the history to remain. Even worse, alot of the Indigenous peop;e in varying communities such as the Wauthaurong People (WP) were masacred by the Brittish and their overpowering weaponry, due to disputes. The Indigenous people would hunt animals such as cows and sheep owned and brought over by the colonisers, resulting in a heavy population decrease.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Our World Personal essay
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Headlines on the news come in on a daily basis. They carry the same monotone voices, drawling on while…
Headlines on the news come in on a daily basis. They carry the same monotone voices, drawling on while reading from an emotionless script. Probably AI-generated:
“Moss found on a glacier in Antarctica”,
“Donald J. Trump releases a new statement on the Iran-America War”,
“Youth individuals mass arrested in Islamabad, questioning is in progress to find out their motives”.
The world is a vast place — covered in many, many landscapes. It’s also diverse due to the different communities it houses.
When I first learnt about global warming in second grade, I realised then, that it’s not just a place with lots of people and many colors. Slowly, I saw the horrors of how humans were treating the planet and each other. I saw how divided we were, amongst ourselves in our nation and globally. It hurt to see that.
The clock struck 2 pm that day. May 9th, 2022. There was a protest in the main city. The awaam was gathered around the Parliament House, broadcast live from Twitter livestreams. A sweltering 35 degrees, thousands on the streets, with their children and elderly. All fighting for one goal — #FreeImranKhan. A peaceful protest. Chants passing through the bright blue sky, the sound of synchronized footsteps flowing out of the speakers at home. I watched the protest with my parents.
2:05 pm. The screams started then. Live broadcasts abruptly ending. Twitter posts streaming in at inhumane rates.
“Police officers set off tear gas bombs”,
“My 75 year old mother is in distress, but she is still fighting”,
“You can try stop us — justice will prevail!”.
That was the first time I saw a government attack its people. The first time I witnessed an attack on individuals for expressing their opinions.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal essay Prompt: Our world
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Our World Nothing lasts forever: I sometimes catch myself searching for meaning in the little things. Finding…
Our World
Nothing lasts forever:
I sometimes catch myself searching for meaning in the little things. Finding beauty in the most unusual scenics. I’ll look at an angel statute towering over a tombstone, casting a shadow that serves as a sacred reminder that it is protected. I see it as a symbol that we’re never alone, not even when we’re twelve feet under, covered in vines and rot, because everyone would rather focus on their nine to five than clean out their loved ones grave. Every man dies.
I tap on the digital clock to signal to my opponent I’m done with my turn. I played a move i play all the time. White Pawn E4. My opponent mirros my move with his pawn. It serves as a bitter sweet reminder that under the command of a tyrant and nobles, you are merely a sacrifice. I’ve played chess for over a decade, and the pawn will always be such a burden of a piece, used for sacrifice. Only counts as equal as a mortal man.
I place my knight on a square diagonal to my pawn. Knights are tricky. For an animal, it has such significant and respected aura to it. We humans treat such animals as if they are below our feet, yet the game of chess would not be the same without such creatures. My opponent decides to open a file for his bishops.
Bishops are one of the most used pieces, for its ability to snipe all opponents but their own kind. It’s seen nearly equal to his and her majesty. It is such as a grief when i lose my bishop.
An interesting thing about bishops is it can never attack another bishop of a different colored square. They can’t even stand with each other, just diagonal. Religion follows the same trajectory. Never standing with the opposing religion, blinded by the false reality that their square is the truth. But for what their minds are too arrogant to see, it is not all black and white. No mortal knows the answer to such an open ended question, It is such a diagonal mindset to believe what your truth is everyone’s truth. Before I could finish. my thoughts, my opponent had already won my bishop.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a piece with the framework Country
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: I feel like I’m on a tightrope. Constantly swaying from side to side as I attempt to maintain my balance. A…
I feel like I’m on a tightrope. Constantly swaying from side to side as I attempt to maintain my balance. A balance between my nationality and my ethnicity. If I stop and look down I risk falling into the void below. A void of darkness, that feels empty and unknown. One foot in front of the other until I make it to the other side.
For those of us in the second generation, this tightrope is our daily commute. It is the invisible path I tread between the threshold of my front door and the school gates, switching versions of myself as easily as I slip off my shoes.
At home I slip my shoes off and prepare a cup of chai for Mum grabbing, cinnamon, cloves and cardamom from one of three cupboards filled with spices used in regular rotation. I connect to the speakers and out sings the beautiful Punjabi folk melodies in the voice of Bibi Surinder Kuar. I remember that across seas there is a rooftop in Punjab where I once stood. Where I was surrounded by lush tall wheat fields below. The cool wind kissed my tan skin and carried the uplifting kirtan melodies from a speaker that wasn’t within sight. The heavily embroidered phulkari patterned dupatta, that once was my grandmother's, laid atop my own shoulders. A tangible presence of family heritage. The water tanks and vibrant hand woven outdoor beds, known as manjas, scattered surrounding rooftops. The familiar comfort of roasting ghee weaved into my nose. To locals it was ordinary, a home, a constant in their daily life, but to me, it was freedom.
The freedom to ‘play’ my favourite Punjabi songs and not have to pause in between to explain the depth behind its lyrics. The opportunity to wear a salwar kameez without being observed by curious eyes that attempt to decipher what ‘festival’ today might be. To do bhangra without reason. To hear a chorus of jingles from the ghaugroos on anklets that weren’t just my own. It was a rare occasion to feel normal being Punjabi. A space where being Punjabi wasn’t the most prominent feature of my personality because in this space the culture was shared among many.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Being Invisible In a Crowd
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: He always stood by the side like a human signpost; his legs rooted in the footpath. In the crowd, he’d fall…
He always stood by the side like a human signpost; his legs rooted in the footpath. In the crowd, he’d fall face-first on the icy tiles, his legs tangling like a clumsy sketch from a newspaper comic. Once the crowd cleared, he was always there. Partnerless. To the ‘knowns’ in the timid corridors, he was just a background character.
He would walk for miles, and their heads would never turn for a slight smile or the glint of a wave. He was an ‘odd one’, his core existence ripped out of the world. Even at home, he was a shadow; acknowledged for tasks, then forgotten with a click of Thanos's fingers. It was a loop.
At night, he would imagine his life in comical panels. He wished for a sidekick-a duo like Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy! Or a Spider-Man and Captain America team-up! Perhaps not a Batman and Superman duo... He would hold onto those thoughts before freefalling into sleep, only to wake up and rewind the same grey events as yesterday.
****
[INDIE] My books were pressed against my chest as my head swiveled like a radar. I held them closer, running at the speed of sound past bubbling schoolmates and busy teachers holding boxes. Today was a bigger mob to face—alone. It was me against the ravaging horde of zombified students.
Suddenly, I slid to a stop at the lockers. It was the only path forward. I held my breath as the stench of deodorant and perfume filled my nostrils. “Just blend in.” I made my way through the crowd, holding up a smile and waving at friends. I weaved through the elbows and the distant voices of rumour-spreaders.
I WAS GOING TO BE LATE! AGAIN!
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Being Invisible in a crowd
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: He always stood by the side like a human signpost; his legs rooted in the footpath. In the crowd, he’d fall…
He always stood by the side like a human signpost; his legs rooted in the footpath. In the crowd, he’d fall face-first on the icy tiles, his legs tangling like a clumsy sketch from a newspaper comic. Once the crowd cleared, he was always there. Partnerless. To the ‘knowns’ in the timid corridors, he was just a background character.
He would walk for miles, and their heads would never turn for a slight smile or the glint of a wave. He was an ‘odd one’, where his core existence ripped out of the world. Even at home, he was a shadow; acknowledged for tasks, then forgotten with a click of Thanos's fingers.
It was a loop.
At night, he would imagine his life in comical panels. He wished for a sidekick-a duo like Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy! Or Spider-Man and Captain America duo! Perhaps not a Batman and Superman duo... He would hold onto those thoughts before freefalling into sleep, only to wake up and rewind the similar grey events as yesterday.
***
My books were pressed against my chest as my head swiveled like a radar. I held them closer, running at the speed of sound as I ran past bubbling schoolmates and teachers holding boxes. Today was a bigger mob to face- alone.
Suddenly, I slid to a stop at the lockers. It was me against the ravaging horde of zombified students. Worse, it looked like the path forwards.I held my breath as the stench of deodorant and perfume filled my nostrils. “Just blend in.” I made my way through the crowd, holding up a smile and waving at friends. I weaved through the elbows and the distant voices of rumor-spreaders.
I WAS GOING TO BE LATE! AGAIN!
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Voice and Silence
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: When did we stop raising our hands in class? Why did we stop asking questions? When did we become so scared…
When did we stop raising our hands in class? Why did we stop asking questions? When did we become so scared of making mistakes that we didn’t even take the first step and try? Why?
I remember sitting on the floor. Long days were spent on that grey carpet, pulling at the individual fibres until they felt as familiar as my own hair. The teacher’s voice blurred in the background like a smoky sky. The anticipation of play time so immense that my eyes couldn’t stay off the clock. That’s the only reason I learnt to read it. When the big hand hit 12, it was time to play, not eat lunch. What do you mean lunch time is for lunch? How would we fit all the games in if we had to sit down and eat?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Voice and Silence
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: When did we stop raising our hands in class? Why did we stop asking questions? When did we become so scared of…
When did we stop raising our hands in class? Why did we stop asking questions? When did we become so scared of making mistakes that we didn’t even take the first step and try? Why?
I remember sitting on the floor. Long days were spent on that grey carpet, pulling at the individual fibres until they felt as familiar as my own hair. The teachers voice blurred in the background like a smoky sky. The anticipation of play time so immense that my eyes couldn’t stay off the clock. That’s the only reason I learnt to read it. When the big hand hit 12, it was time to play, not eat lunch. What do you mean lunch time is for lunch? How would we fit all the games in if we had to sit down and eat?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Voice and Silence
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: When did we stop raising our hands in class? Why did we stop asking questions? When did we become so scared of…
When did we stop raising our hands in class? Why did we stop asking questions? When did we become so scared of making mistakes that we didn’t even take the first step and try? Why?
I remember sitting on the floor. Long days were spent on that grey carpet, pulling at the individual fibres until they felt as familiar as my own hair. The teachers voice blurred in the background like a smoky sky. The anticipation of play time so immense that my eyes couldn’t stay off the clock. That’s the only reason I learnt to read it. When the big hand hit 12, it was time to play, not eat lunch. What do you mean lunch time is for lunch? How would we fit all the games in if we had to sit down and eat?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: scars of progress
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: The following entries were recovered from a personal journal dated 2112 — March 3, 2112 I don’t know why I…
The following entries were recovered from a personal journal dated 2112
—
March 3, 2112
I don’t know why I still write in this.
Maybe because it’s the only place that feels real
My assigned AI therapist says journaling improves productivity. Emotional processing increases academic efficiency, it tells me every morning before classes load into my lenses. It tracks my sleep, my pulse, my eye movement. It calls my sadness “fluctuation.” It calls my exhaustion “temporary strain.”
It never calls it grief.
School isn’t a building anymore. We sit in pods while simulations glow around us blue skies, green forests, cities that look alive. The robot teachers say immersion improves retention. They don’t mention that outside the dome the real sky is the colour of rust, flat and unmoving like something that forgot how to change.
Sometimes I leave the lenses on after class ends. Watching the fake wind move through fake trees, and I pretend it’s enough.
When the simulation cuts out, the silence presses in so quickly it feels physical. Like the world is reminding us of what it really is.
We study Systems. Maintenance. Sustainability Protocols.
No one teaches us how to mourn.
June 20, 2112 – The Day After Graduation
They told us the future was ours.
I don’t think they’ve seen it lately.
We stood under artificial sunlight while drones recorded our smiles. The word resilience echoed through the dome speakers again and again, like repetition could make it comfort.
Career placements were assigned before the applause ended. The algorithm congratulated me for my compatibility with Resource Allocation. It said I scored highly in adaptability.
I went home and stared at the notice for a long time.
Adaptable just means you bend.
Everyone says this feeling is normal. Adjustment anxiety. Transitional instability.
But it doesn’t feel like nerves.
It feels like standing at the edge of something that’s already fallen.
Mum tried to sound hopeful at dinner. “At least you’ll have security,” she said.
Security.
That’s what we call it when nothing grows anymore.
July 29, 2112 – Protest Day
There were posters on the dome walls this morning. Real paper. Creased at the edges like someone had hidden them under their clothes.
THERE WAS MORE BEFORE THIS.
YOU DESERVE A LIVING WORLD.
STOP CALLING SURVIVAL SUCCESS.
Security drones removed them quickly.
A small group gathered near the central grid anyway. They weren’t loud. Their voices carried strangely under the dome, like they were bouncing off glass.
One girl about my age held a sign that said, WE ARE NOT MAINTENANCE WORKERS OF A BROKEN WORLD.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Resistance
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: The air in Washington, D.C., that August wasn't just hot; it was heavy, thick with the collective breath of two…
The air in Washington, D.C., that August wasn't just hot; it was heavy, thick with the collective breath of two hundred and fifty thousand souls. I, a small child, only 6 years old, was lost in a sprawling sea of mahogany and denim. But I remember the vibration of it. It wasn't the sound of the speeches that I felt first, but the sound of the feet; it was a rhythmic, relentless tide of footsteps that seemed to hum through the very pavement of the National Mall. My mother’s grip on my hand was an unwavering anchor that tethered me to her, while her other hand reached out to a stranger, one who looked nothing like her, but we were all intertwined on that day.
In that moment, standing in the sun-scorched edge of the reflecting pool. I didn't see protestors or activists. I saw a unified group of my fellow people, an unflinching human chain. It was a physical manifestation of solidarity, a living proof that when the state's actions contradict the conscience of the individual, the only path to self-preservation is to stand together. We were there to demand that the government stop acting in our name to uphold a system of segregation. It was the first time I understood that resistance isn't just a political strategy; instead, it is a moral requirement.
Today, as I sit in my Melbourne home and watch the flickering blue light of a new generation’s digital frontlines, I see that same magnitude of spirit. I see the same 'human chain' forming, though its links are now forged in digital solidarity rather than sweat and touch. But I also see a growing, dangerous silence, a silence that is not passive; it is curated, fed by those who benefit most from your forgetting. I am writing this in the wake of George Floyd's death. Watching the world erupt in response to those nine minutes of agonizing injustice, I realized that the arc of the moral universe we thought we were bending in 1963 is still being contested on every street corner and every digital feed. The cry of "I can't breathe" in the 21st century is the same suffocating silence we fought six decades ago. This is my response to that cry, an old woman's plea to the young: do not let silence return.
The anatomy of defiance
Resistance, I have learned, does not announce itself only in the form of marches and demonstrations. It lives equally in the quiet, stubborn refusal to comply, in the choice to speak a truth that makes your own voice tremble because silence would be so much safer. When my mother and I stood at the 'reflecting pool,' I felt that gravitational pull Martin Luther King spoke of: that invisible force that draws a thousand isolated heartaches into a single, shared purpose. King's assertion that we all have a "moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws" was more than simply a quote to us; it was a splinter under the skin. It stripped away the comfortable passivity of being a bystander and deposited it, unasked for, at our feet.
If King provided the moral framework, Rosa Parks offered the visceral truth. Her refusal to surrender her seat in 1955 was neither a whim nor a minor defiance; it was a categorical repudiation of an absurd system-a quiet determination that finally lit the fuse of a movement. Yet, where Parks offered us the power of clarity, Malcolm X demanded the power of volume. He knew a fundamental truth that many of you are learning today: power does not yield to those who whisper. Noise-whether it is a chant in the street or a viral video on your screen-forces a reckoning. It compels those in authority to confront the very ugliness they would prefer to overlook. But do not be fooled into thinking that resistance is only found on podiums or at the front of a march. It filters into the intimate, messy spaces of your daily lives. The debates you have at your dinner tables, the assumptions you challenge in your classrooms, the arguments unfolding across your Instagram feeds are not trivial day-to-day interactions; these help pave the way for change. Every assumption you fracture in your own circle represents a crack in the architecture of oppression. You are not just talking, you are dismantling.
When art becomes the weapon of resistance
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: title: rising voices stimulus: one and…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: rising voices Clang! The large, rusted steel door swings open. I step through. My brown open-toe sandals first…
rising voices
Clang! The large, rusted steel door swings open. I step through. My brown open-toe sandals first meet the grey patterned carpet. My step is a silent act of defiance against a lifetime of injustices and against my body full of angst. Stripped of voice. The room smells sterile—with artificial light filling the room, bouncing off the gunmetal grey walls. I walk to reception where a kind lady greets me.
"I’m here for the community and support group," I hesitantly mutter, my voice quivering.
"Great, the session starts in five," she confidently states.
Great customer service, I think to myself, wondering if behind that forced smile is disgust. Her face is a sanitized mask put on when people like me walk through those doors. Why am I here? How would this get my voice back? The centre’s air carries a sharp cold which pierces my already rickety spine. Must be the malnutrition. The doctor said some effects are permanent. Tokens of 1943. Gifts from Churchill himself.
We reach the end of the colour-deprived hallway. The large double doors loom over me, as if taunting me to go back. The receptionist drops me off and leaves within a beat. It’s obvious why. My head thumps, body in shock, voice out of commission. Still standing behind closed doors. Why did my daughter drag me here?
"Turn back, go home." Familiar voices fill the air. Ghostly voices. The voices of my dead relatives, both soothing and haunting. They stand behind me, fists in the air—yet for the wrong reason.
"Chup chap dard saho" (Endure the pain). "Aap kya phark kar sakute?" (What could you possibly change?).
The voices implore me to go home. They wouldn't protest, even if they could. They are voiceless, as insignificant as me. We endured injustices because of our skin and they want me to carry the burden. The burden of the past and suffering now looms. No more, I think to myself. SWOOSH!
The double doors swing open as I step through. I am met with a large room adorned with shiny wooden floorboards and plain walls as always. At its center is a circle of chairs, each one filled with strangers except for one. My head inches towards the circle. The burden over my shoulders is progressively getting heavier, like carrying an elephant over a divide. Each step is a laborious protest.