VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “Protest enables marginalised groups…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: It was a dreary morning on the way to work - the kind where the sky hangs low and heavy, pressing a dull…
It was a dreary morning on the way to work - the kind where the sky hangs low and heavy, pressing a dull weight against everything below. The windscreen wipers dragged rhythmically across the glass, smearing the drizzle into streaks of blurred light. Then, without warning, that song crackled through the speakers.
For a moment, I froze.
These were the lyrics that had anchored our cause and aided our voice, forcing passersby to hear the pleas of the marginalised.
We refused to be silent; we knew we couldn’t if real change was to happen. The struggle was never going to be over. We were certain that we couldn’t go quietly; being placid would never get us heard.
There was no room for passivity; we were fuelled by our desire for change, each and every one of us unwavering in our drive to lead young people to a brighter future. Like Martin Luther King once boldly stated, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter”, and that day, I felt like I was going to live forever.
A diverse tapestry of students gathered, from the salt-sprayed coastal towns to the quietest regional towns, coalesced to fight for the future of our planet.
Kaleidoscopic sprawls of youth filled the streets of the city, replacing the honking of horns and engine roars with our homemade signs and our incessant determination. We pushed the boundaries that once held us back, drowning out the drones of voices that tried to silence us.
Not even the methodical and mechanical procession of businessmen and CEOs, shielded by a world that prioritised profit over the planet, could keep us back.
We understood that to remain silent was to accept defeat, and that we had to stand up for what we believed. Acting as a constant reminder of what we were assembled to do, Taylor Swift’s lyrics echoed through my mind, “Only the young can run.”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write an oral speech presenting an…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Before you leave the house tonight, make sure your phone is charged. Walk the lit road, not the shortcut. Keep…
Before you leave the house tonight, make sure your phone is charged. Walk the lit road, not the shortcut. Keep your keys between your fingers, just in case. Hood up, music off, eyes up. Text me when you get there and don't leave your drink alone. Wear something that covers you, you don't want to suggest anything, but not so long you'll trip if you have to run. Always scream fire, never help.
We don't hand this list to boys. We have never handed this list to boys. We give it to girls before they're old enough to understand why, and by the time they're old enough to ask, they've already memorised it. Nobody decided what to hand boys instead. The manosphere decided for us.
Over the last decade, an ecosystem of podcasts, forums and posts built itself around that gap, telling boys that women are objects for their entertainment, showing emotion is weak and for girls, and feminism is the reason they feel lost and can’t get a girlfriend. This is the manosphere, and it did not create misogyny, but it has industrialised it.
The manosphere is not a single website or a single man. It is a misogynistic subculture that operates across platforms, characterised by anti-feminist, misogynistic viewpoints and the promotion of rigid, aggressive models of masculinity, according to UN women. Andrew Tate is one such model. This ‘man’ has publicly stated that he is “absolutely a misogynist”, “that women are inferior and morally deficient beings who are good only for sex” and if a women accuses a man of cheating the appropriate response is “bang out the machete, boom in her face, grip her up by the neck … and you go f her”. He is awaiting trial for rape and human trafficking. He has ten million followers. Boys are still searching his name. This is who is raising our boys while we aren't looking.
When a culture repeatedly tells young boys that showing emotions and vulnerability is for girls, and men should toughen up and deal with it, it should not surprise us when those boys grow into men who respond to vulnerability with violence. The ABS recorded 40,087 reports of sexual assault against women in 2024, and estimate 92% of sexual assaults go unreported, that’s an additional 461,000 more women. The manosphere didn't pull the trigger, these men did. What it did do was provide them with a loaded gun and spare bullets. Bullets aimed at women and the very movement fighting for their rights.
Feminism is not a textbook definition, it is the apparently radical belief that the girl walking home tonight deserves to do so without a list of rules. The idea that women are people and not vessels for someone else’s dinner, children and desires. Yet these forums, podcasts and ‘male advocates’ have twisted this word to fit their own misogynistic views. The manosphere didn't just discredit feminism, it took a word used to describe one of the most powerful and impactful movements in human rights advocacy and framed it as oppression, hate and the loss of rights for men.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: About play. Title: Time to play,…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Time to play I am a superhero who can run as fast as cheetah, each time my foot contacts the sand I feel it…
Time to play
I am a superhero who can run as fast as cheetah, each time my foot contacts the sand I feel it retract, the ground falls beneath my feet and in this moment I am unstoppable. But I realize no matter the grandness of my imagination, no matter the distance created between my superhero persona and the real body that made it up, my escape is limited to what exists in my eleven-year-old mind. I can’t remain here, for the very hand that abruptly ends my time to play is the one that pushes on the boundaries of childish innocence. An arm wraps tightly around my waist and in that moment, I can tell by his refusal to let go that we were no longer playing the same version of tag.
I recall so vividly the slapping sounds of bare feet on wet sand, the sound of carefree, childish giggling being carried away by small waves crashing harshly onto nearby rocks. Somehow the feeling of being pulled abruptly out of my fantasy is even more memorable. I feel cheated by a breach to the rules of a game I never signed up for. My body physically strained by his grasp, what kind of superhero is seen like this? Suddenly the sand between my toes no longer represents fragments of the ground, broken from my immense strength, it actually starts to itch and discomfort settles in. The cold wind doesn’t feel so rewarding blowing on my face, my lips crack and salt is all I taste. The freedom and innocence of play I felt as a kid showed not to compare to the imposition of more mature strategies being made to win a different prize As a child who hadn’t yet been handed the script of how older kids play or been shown what to fix my tactics on, play would revert to instinct.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write an oral speech presenting an…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Before you leave the house tonight, make sure your phone is charged. Walk the lit road, not the shortcut. Keep…
Before you leave the house tonight, make sure your phone is charged. Walk the lit road, not the shortcut. Keep your keys between your fingers, just in case. Hood up, music off, eyes up. Text me when you get there and don't leave your drink alone. Wear something that covers you, you don't want to suggest anything, but not so long you'll trip if you have to run. Always scream fire, never help.
We don't hand this list to boys, we have never handed this list to boys. We give it to girls before they're old enough to understand why, and by the time they're old enough to ask, they've already memorised it.
Over the last decade, an ecosystem of podcasts, forums, algorithms and posts have been born, telling boys that women are the enemy and the root cause for their insecurities and troubles. That vulnerability and emotion are weak and not masculine, and the reason boys feel lost is feminism. This is the manosphere. It did not create misogyny, but it has industrialised it.
The manosphere is not a single website or a single man. It is a misogynistic subculture that operates across platforms, characterised by anti-feminist, misogynistic viewpoints and the promotion of rigid, aggressive models of masculinity, according to UN women. Andrew Tate is one such model. This ‘man’ has publicly stated that he is “absolutely a misogynist”, “that women are inferior and morally deficient beings who are good only for sex” and if a women accuses a man of cheating the appropriate response is “bang out the machete, boom in her face, grip her up by the neck … and you go f her”. He is awaiting trial for rape and human trafficking. He has ten million followers. Boys are still searching his name. This is who is raising our boys while we aren't looking.
When a culture tells boys that vulnerability is feminine, and feminine is weak, it should not surprise us when those boys grow into men who respond to vulnerability with violence. The ABS recorded 40,087 reports of sexual assault against women in 2024, and estimate 92% of sexual assaults go unreported. Thats 461,000 more women. The manosphere didn't pull the trigger, these men did. What it did do was provide them with a loaded gun and spare bullets. Bullets aimed at women and the very movement fighting for their rights.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: From memory the propmt was about…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: There I was sprinting, and a half Kilometers, my body felt exhausted yet I kept going, my lungs felt exhausted…
There I was sprinting, and a half Kilometers, my body felt exhausted yet I kept going, my lungs felt exhausted as if there was no oxygen yet I kept going, nothing was going through my mind yet I kept going. Why? because I was on track on beating my personal best, I was on track on makin many happy, but most importantly, I was on track on beating my fathers five Kilometer time.
It had been my thriving goal to beat his time, but he was a fast man, a prodigy, a olympian. Yet here I was now with years of hard training, on track to beat it, the body breaks steady state with only four hundred meters left, I break my breathing as a last ditch attempt oxygen now coming through my mouth instead of the nose.
Three hundred meters left, my muscle cant hold it any more, it produce more lactate acid the my body can, my legs go from feeling like feathers to tungsten, every step is peacefull but every time I extend my legs up I experience the gates of hell.
Two hundred meters, the cheers of the audience, my peers, my coach is all muffled, as I get faster and faster the arteries and veins to my brain vasoconstrict reducing the blood flow to my brain, my body is now priotizing my muscles than my concouse.
One hundred meters, the final sprint begins, my final sprint begins, my recruits every muscle fibre in my body trying to reach the intensity needed, my breaths now sound like a air pump, trying to get as much oxygen it can, contraction relaxation contraction relaxation contraction relaxation, everything in my body is working at its peak.
My body drops, I start to very, heavy breaths my body is still workin just to get rid of the waste produced by my body. News reporters come towards me, wanting to hear the reaction of the new five Kilometer world record holder, and yet my body feels more empty then it was
during the run, I had just achieved my long life goal, and yet now there was nothing to do.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “I really like to stay in my nest and…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Sometimes it is easier to hide away in the walls of your own mind; at least then you don't have someone telling…
Sometimes it is easier to hide away in the walls of your own mind; at least then you don't have someone telling you, ‘It’s all going to be alright’. It irks me just enough to clench my jaw and lower my gaze to my fidgeting hands, but not enough to open my mouth. My friends, family, teachers, and strangers will ask you if you're ok, their voices overflowing with unwavering concern and sympathy. And sometimes it's a thousand times easier to conceal the hurt than to say the singular word, ‘no’.
I cling to the comfort the sadness offers me, though it makes my life stagnant, unmoving from the deep hole I reside in; the nest is safer than confronting the fear that controls me. It’s a new day, and my mother has found her place next to the frames of my doorway, a slight smile and a tinge of worry plastered on her face, “Are you going to clean up your room? Why can’t you keep your room clean like your brother does?” Next to my face is dinner from last night, a dusty desk untouched for weeks, and clothes thrown neatly into the corner of my bed. I opened my eyes with all the strength I had, only to close once again to avoid my mother’s stares, you can possibly guess what my response was: silence.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: analysing a sustainable farm created…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: MY SUSTAINABLE FARM, GRACE901, 27-4-2026 Introduction My sustainable farm design is set in a temperate…
MY SUSTAINABLE FARM, GRACE901, 27-4-2026
Introduction
My sustainable farm design is set in a temperate grassland biome in Australia. Its main purpose is to feed the community, breed animals and produce crops to reach the high-demand of goods from places all over the world. There’s a loading bay on the edges of the island, suitable for transportation of goods to other countries.
Suitability of temperate grasslands
The temperate grassland is the most suitable candidate for a farm because its soils are deep and are rich in organic matter due to the decay of dense grass roots. They contain essential nutrients such as potassium, nitrogen and phosphorus that are crucial for crop production. Temperate grasslands have moderate temperature meaning they are not too hot or too cold. The soil is loose and fertile, letting the roots expand easily and the moderate rainfall allows the solid to be moist but not runny. The warm summers help crops grow better while in the winter, it reduces the number of pests. Taking up more than ninety-five per cent of the farm, grasses are suitable for grazing and are perfect for livestock!
Sustainability Choices
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a piece that explores the idea…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: I was at a family dinner over Easter earlier in the year, and one of my aunts asked me a seemingly-innocuous…
I was at a family dinner over Easter earlier in the year, and one of my aunts asked me a seemingly-innocuous question that made me quite uncomfortable. Usually, I am an upbeat, bubbly person, and most would tell you that I have high confidence. Unfortunately, the opposite is true: every day I question the choices I have made and the impact they have had on my relationships.
When I entered high school, I was faced with a rather uncomfortable choice: I would have to pick a school sport to play during winter, or join a band. The extracurricular lady peered at me over her bifocals, frowning, eyebrows drawn together and raised like little anthills. The only band that had any space was the orchestra, and they needed a piccolo player.
Now, anyone who is acquainted with woodwind instruments would know that the piccolo is a tiny, shrieking version of the flute, and that it should be played only by an experienced flautist with excellent tone. But for a reason unknown both to my parents and myself, I, standing in my oversized blazer with my dress almost at my ankles, boldly offered my services to the school band. The lady in charge of extracurriculars frowned a little harder, and I could almost imagine the tiny ants running in and out of those hills. Then she sat back, sighed, and put my name down, one eyebrow still raised.
Obviously, I was terrible. However, I started practising more and more. I took a certain tormented delight in knowing that while other students were tucking into dinner, or doing a little homework, I was running up and down the same five notes with deliberate focus. As painful as my practice was for all within earshot, the improvement it allowed me in the orchestra gave me surging motivation.
Sometimes in life, you are captured by an idea which is inexplicable to those who haven’t felt it. The sense of mastery I felt playing the piccolo made all other subjects at school pale in comparison. What was maths, with all its useless formulae repeated over and over, when music was a space with infinite room for improvement? Where every day’s practice contributed to notable growth, however small? Music was not just a hobby for me, but a pursuit which gave me the deepest sense of meaning. Over time, I came to love the piccolo more than anything else.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a piece that explores the idea…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: I am born. Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by…
I am born. Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.
–
I am a child. I don’t know my name. Do I have a name? What is a name? What’s in a name? I’m cold. Is that the right word for what I am experiencing? How do I speak words? Can I speak words?
Mum is here. Dad is here. Now they are gone. Where did they go? Will they come back? What do I do? What should I do? What can I do? What can’t I do?
Who will tell me?
I’m happy now. Was I happy before? There is water falling from the sky and it goes creecky-criicky-creecky-cricky as it jumps and dances and clatters and shatters against the tiles on the roof. It is sense-alteringly beautiful.
I am alone now. Where did everybody go? Will they come back? It is dark. Now the water is falling not from the skies but from my eyes.
Will it ever stop?
–
I am young – though I don’t feel it. In fact, I feel old. Or, perhaps, world-weary is a more apt phrase. My teacher called me a cynic today. I think she meant it affectionately – at least, that’s how it sounded – but I’m not sure I want to be a cynic. Not really.
I’m lying awake in bed thinking this. The thoughts form on the surface of my mind like mayflies or geckos, pitter-pattering across the surface tension. One wrong move and they would break through, drowning in the depths of what lies beneath.
Is it normal to be frightened of my own mind?
I feel like the barrier is gossamer-thin between smug self-assurance and bottomless, pitiless, lonely despair. Does everyone feel this way?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: a short play script about the theme of…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: FINAL SCRIPT ( Act I, Scene I [Sally skips in with a vibrant expression, clutching onto her teddy bear. She…
FINAL SCRIPT
( Act I, Scene I
[Sally skips in with a vibrant expression, clutching onto her teddy bear. She goes to sit at the dinner table straight across from her father.]
Sally (enthusiastically): How was your day Dad?!
Dad (coldly, eyes on his food): Fine.
[Silence.]
Sally (looks around the room for a way to break the ice): Mom, I’ve been waiting for 10 minutes, when is the food coming?
[Mom rushes into the room, sitting next to Sally with two plates in her hands. Her clothes are stained]
Mom (to Dad, in a low voice): Did you pay her school fees?
Dad (looking up, offended and irritated): How could you even doubt me? If you’re so worried about it, maybe you should pay it yourself for once.
Mother: But I-
Dad (cutting her off, raising his voice): No, don’t you start again. I’m the only one doing anything around here! All you do all day is sit down and bicker at me. There’s no point! (Sally runs to hide under the table, squeezing her teddy bear) I’m tired of both of you and your daughter, and all your nonsense. If it weren’t for her (pointing at Sally) I would’ve left by now.
[The mother’s expression is tense and she is looking down. The daughter’s eyebrows twist, head bows down.
Suddenly, Dad pushes his chair back loudly and storms out of the room. Mom breathes heavily, then grabs a plate and exits shortly after.
Sally is left alone at the table. She looks down at her food, untouched, her face small and withdrawn- completely isolated.]
ACT 1 SCENE 2
[Sally opens a door leading into her room and rushes in. She sits at her table and starts writing on a piece of paper, wiping out the tears that are falling from her eyes.
Mother enters.]
Sally: Mom! You scared me. What are you doing?
Mom (loudly): Come outside! You’re always hiding away in your room writing in those little books of yours, God knows doing what. What did I do to deserve a daughter like you? [She exits]
ACT II SCENE 1
[Mum is seated comfortably on a hospital bed. Sally is sitting beside her holding her hand.]
Mum: I was never happy with your dad. I never wanted to be with him, but my parents had expectations of me.
Mum (long breath, ashamed): I’ve never loved him. Years of abuse day after day. He wanted a child, I gave him one, but it wasn’t enough. All because you were a girl.
But still not enough for him, nothing was. I did everything to make that house a home. But it could never be one.(Anxiously)
Mum (Sobbing): I tried my hardest. Living a life I didn’t want. And now I’m here (looks around the room) regretting everything with what- ifs flooding my head. But I can’t change anything. It’s too late now.
[Sally holds her mum's hand. Mum goes limp.]
Sally: Mum? Mum?!
[Flat lines are seen on the monitor. Sally weeps.]
Act II, Scene II
[Sally is at her parents’ house, packing boxes.]
Sally (talking to herself): This brings back memories
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: A vignette writing of a picture of a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: I had been walking since dawn, boots grinding against the fractured asphalt, each step echoing loudly in the…
I had been walking since dawn, boots grinding against the fractured asphalt, each step echoing loudly in the open wasteland. The silence pressed in from all sides, thick and watchful, broken only by the wind scraping dust across the road. Ever since the world went into ecological collapse, my life had been a constant repeat of scavenging for food. The earth had heated up so badly that whole ecosystems died out as plants could not regrow from the blistering heat. Crops, animals, and water gradually disappeared, leaving everybody in a desperate state of survival. I travelled from city to city, picking up scraps where I could find them, searching for any kind of refuge.
The land on either side of the road was colourless and cracked, like skin stretched too far without water. Dead trees clawed at the sky, their branches twisted into frozen screams. No leaves. No birds. Just splintered silhouettes standing guard over nothing. I kept my eyes forward. Looking too long at the trees made it feel as though they were leaning closer when I wasn’t watching. The road itself was rotting. Chunks of tar had collapsed inward, forming dark, uneven pits where miniscule amounts of rain once pooled and evaporated. The painted lines were fading, peeling away like old scars. I followed them anyway, because they were the only thing that still pretended to guide me.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write about the flowers.
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: On the wide level acres of the valley the topsoil lay deep and fertile. It required only a rich winter of rain…
On the wide level acres of the valley the topsoil lay deep and fertile. It required only a rich winter of rain to make it break forth in grass and flowers. The spring flowers in a wet year were unbelievable. The whole valley floor, and the foothills too, would be carpeted with lupins and poppies. Once a woman told me that colored flowers would seem more bright if you added a few white flowers to give the colors definition. Every petal of blue lupin is edged with white, so that a field of lupins is more blue than you can imagine. And mixed with these were
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: “High Ground argues that knowing who…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Throughout history, an individual’s sense of identity has shaped how they understand their place in the world…
Throughout history, an individual’s sense of identity has shaped how they understand their place in the world and respond to challenges. Identity provides a sense of belonging, purpose and moral direction, enabling individuals and communities to navigate conflict and change. However, when identity is suppressed, manipulated or lost, confusion, division and destruction often follow. Set against the frontier conflicts of 1930s Arnhem Land, Stephen Johnson’s film High Ground explores the profound significance of identity within a society fractured by colonial violence. Through the struggle to maintain cultural identity in the face of colonisation, the consequences of losing connection to one’s heritage and values, and the eventual restoration of identity through Indigenous law and reconciliation, Johnson demonstrates that knowing who you are is essential for individual fulfilment, cultural survival and moral clarity. While the film acknowledges the pressures that can complicate an individual’s understanding of themselves, Johnson ultimately contends that a secure sense of identity provides the foundation necessary to resist oppression, restore balance and preserve humanity. In doing so, he encourages Australian audiences to recognise the enduring importance of cultural identity and truth in confronting the nation’s colonial past.
There is no doubt that Johnson presents cultural identity as crucial because it provides individuals and communities with a sense of belonging and strength in the face of colonial oppression. By foregrounding the deep connection between Indigenous identity, Country and law, Johnson challenges colonial assumptions that Indigenous cultures are inferior or expendable. This is most powerfully conveyed during the Makarrata discussions, where Indigenous law is contrasted directly with colonial authority. Darrpa’s assertion that, “This is my lore. It comes from the soil. From Mother Earth. Yours comes from across the sea,” establishes identity as something deeply rooted in ancestry, spirituality and connection to Country. In contrast to colonial laws imposed through conquest, Indigenous identity emerges as organic, enduring and inseparable from the land itself. Johnson reinforces this distinction through sweeping aerial shots of Arnhem Land, presenting the landscape as ancient, sacred and permanent while simultaneously diminishing the presence of colonial figures within the frame. Furthermore, the use of unsubtitled Indigenous songlines reminds audiences that Indigenous knowledge and identity cannot be fully understood through a colonial lens. Whereas colonial authority seeks to define identity through power and ownership, Indigenous identity is portrayed as collective, spiritual and intrinsically connected to Country. Through this juxtaposition, Johnson compels Australian audiences to reconsider dominant historical narratives and recognise the resilience of Indigenous identity despite attempts at cultural erasure. Consequently, the film suggests that knowing who you are provides the strength necessary to resist oppression and preserve cultural continuity.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: personal journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: The Weight of a Final Word In the wake of my Grandad’s passing, I found myself living in a dark forest, a…
The Weight of a Final Word
In the wake of my Grandad’s passing, I found myself living in a dark forest, a landscape where the canopy of grief was so thick that the sunlight of my old life couldn't reach the floor. A constant, low-simmering depression that would frequently boil over into flashes of uncharacteristic anger. I would snap at my mum over the volume of the TV.
The most vivid memories are from the local eye hospital. I would sit on those hard, plastic chairs, swinging my legs while I watched him move through the waiting rooms. He had this way of noticing the people who felt invisible or people with a look of quiet terror. He would stop, offer a joke, or simply sit with them. The nurse knew his name before he reached the desk. I watched him cross the room towards the elderly man sitting alone, turning a hat over and over in his hands. “My wife bought it,” the man said, unpromoted. “She passed last spring.” My Grandad just nodded and sat down beside him. They didn’t speak again for a long time. I grew up watching moments like that, never realising i was witnessing the construction of a legacy,
Then the day happened. I remember staring at my phone, debating whether to call him. I was tired from school and basketball practice, and a part of me thought, I’ll just call him on the weekend when I have more energy. But some quiet, nagging instinct made me press his name.
We talked for forty minutes. He sounded tired, his breath a little shorter than usual, but his voice still had that familiar warmth. We talked about how he was going, and I remember trying to sound encouraging. "Don't worry, Grandad," I said, "you'll get better soon. We’ve still got that trip planned."
"I'm trying, Tim," he whispered. "I'm trying."
"Goodbye," I said.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Childhood.
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: The passing of time. Existentialism is a curious thing. My father died before I could remember, but I saw the…
The passing of time.
Existentialism is a curious thing.
My father died before I could remember, but I saw the ghost of him in my mother's eyes. In her actions too; I saw how she would rummage through his manuscripts, her arms moving rapidly before they gave out, I had always run back to my room before I was caught. But the muffled sobs and the hoarse throat deemed my mother a liar.
I was very timid growing up. I spent most of my time alone, my mother had been working extremely hard; her multiple jobs had certainly taken a toll on her. She came home late, sometimes her shadow didn't appear under the door, and her keys never hung up on the wall. I didn't question her. Who was I to do so? Her crinkled eyes and warm smile reassured me that she was holding on just fine.
I usually occupied my time with the books my father had left behind. While discussing the stupid acts of a certain character in a book with my mother, she said the most profound line 11 year old me had ever heard.
"Baby, the only way you can be happy in this wrong world, is to live the pain, instead of inflict it."
From then, I had become a plaster fit into the 'revised edits' of my mother's mould. I took her words with me wherever I went. I let those kids hit me, just so I could alleviate their stress, just so I could see that satisfied smile and the cloud behind their eyes lift.
I believed the world was wrong, I believed there was nothing better than to be the stepping stone to get someone back on track.
My mother always looked proud of me. She spoke to me in a fond way as if it was our little secret.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: A river runs not through strength but…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Motion is the measure of becoming. In year 12, everything feels like it’s supposed to matter all at once.…
Motion is the measure of becoming.
In year 12, everything feels like it’s supposed to matter all at once. Your grades, your future. The way teachers speak to you like you’re already halfway into adulthood, while a part of you still feels like you’re figuring out how to exist. Every SAC carries weight, every decision feels permanent, and worst of all every failure, no matter how small, echoes louder than it should.
At least that’s how it feels for me.
I’m in year 12 right now, and nothing seems to be finished. Not my notes, not my understanding, not even the person I'm supposed to be by the end of this year. Everything is in progress, half written notes, incomplete practise exams, plans that look good written down but don’t always happen the way I imagine.
There is this constant feeling that I should be further along than I am.
Opening up my results used to feel rewarding; it felt like a moment where everything I’d worked for made sense. It used to make me feel proud, like I’ve achieved something, like all those hours spend studying was worthwhile. But now it feels like a knife to the gut, like I’ve being struck by thousands of needles; even seeing the notification “grades are out” is enough to ruin my entire mood. It feels like the results reach me before I reach them, like the disappointment is already waiting.
Everyone talks about “staying on top of things” like it’s a stable place you can reach and just exist in. But for me, it feels more like trying to stand up right on something that keeps shifting, as soon as I think I’ve caught up in one subject, another slips. As soon as I feel confident about one topic, I realise how much I still don’t know.
It’s exhausting.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: vce crafting text on the future and…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Entry 1: 29/04/2125 I can't remember the last time I was outside. The last time I felt the rain on my bare…
Entry 1: 29/04/2125
I can't remember the last time I was outside. The last time I felt the rain on my bare skin, the last time I felt the breeze through my hair.
I remember the day they announced it. That the government planned on building "silo" style societies underground, where all would live. Sustainable housing districts. What a lie. But I was only a kid then. I couldn't understand.
They told us that it would heal the earth, especially after man's dependence on AI lead to accelerated climate change, to the point where whole countries were uninhabitable. Cities were swallowed by heat. There weren't even any crops left.
I remember everyone I knew celebrating. There was finally a solution to the madness created. June 10th was the day the first district moved in, we all heard about how clean they were, how futuristic, how safe it all was. The broadcasts showed happiness, joy and optimism.
It was all so believable.
Entry 2: 13/05/2125
Recently, I've been reminiscing about moving day. I try to remember the good parts. The excitement in the air, the shouting of other kids, so excited to see their new homes for the first time. Not the fear in the air. The solemn expressions on our parents' faces. The coughing and wheezing of the sick.
I remember when I first stepped foot into the silos. The robots gave us our new id bands, and assigned us to our new living spaces. Our new homes. Floor 144, Room 19. They additionally handed out work rotations, food schedules, school hours. It felt as if everything had already been determined for us. We couldn’t choose anything. And if we broke the rules, our id bands would immediately be deactivated. The cameras were always on.
That first night was terrifying. I recall hearing a constant buzz through the walls, the vents blowing air across my face, as if the silo was alive.
Entry 3: 27/05/2125
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: people often shrink them selfs to fit in
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: The hedges in our street were always cut into obedient shapes. Squares. Circles. Clean edges. Every Sunday…
The hedges in our street were always cut into obedient shapes.
Squares. Circles. Clean edges.
Every Sunday morning, men stood outside with silver shears, shaving away the stray branches that reached too far into the light. Grass clippings gathered at their feet like something dead. By Monday, the street looked artificial again — trimmed into something respectable.
My mother hated it.
“Plants are supposed to grow wild,” she used to mutter while watering the jasmine climbing our fence. “People only cut things when they’re afraid of what they become.”
I never understood what she meant until high school.
That was when I learnt beauty had rules.
Not the obvious kind printed across billboards or glowing from phone screens, but quieter rules. More dangerous ones. The kind hidden inside the way people looked at you for half a second too long after hearing your name.
Ali.
Too ethnic.
Too western suburbs.
Too loud.
By Year Eight, I had already begun reducing myself into something easier to consume.
Teachers shortened my name without asking. Friends flattened my accent into cleaner syllables. I stopped bringing leftover curry to school after somebody asked why my food “smelled like the train station.” I learnt to laugh immediately after making certain jokes, just so people knew I understood I was different before they could point it out themselves.
That became my talent.
Shrinking before others had the chance to shrink me first.
At school, beauty existed in strange forms.
It existed in effortless confidence. In boys who loosened their ties perfectly and girls whose messy buns somehow looked intentional. In expensive shoes untouched by rainwater and skin that looked permanently sunlit. Even their imperfections felt rehearsed.
During lunch, groups scattered themselves across the courtyard like carefully arranged advertisements. The attractive people occupied the centre tables near the basketball courts where sunlight reached first. Everyone else existed around the edges.
And somehow, people always knew where they belonged.
I learnt that too.
In English class, students laughed when I mispronounced the word “epitome.” I laughed with them even though my face burned hot enough to feel it behind my ears.
“Nah, say it again,” one boy grinned.
The teacher smiled politely, waiting for the moment to pass.
So I repeated the word wrong on purpose the second time because it felt less humiliating if the mistake looked intentional.
That afternoon, I went home and searched up pronunciation videos alone in my room with headphones on.
After that, I spoke less in class.
On the train to school every morning, the city transformed station by station. The further east we travelled, the cleaner everything became. Graffiti disappeared. Cafés replaced corner stores with metal shutters. Girls stepped onto platforms wearing shoes so white they looked untouched by weather.
Even the silence sounded expensive.
I used to watch my reflection in the train window as we crossed the river.
Somewhere between stations, I always started editing myself.
My posture straightened.
My voice softened.
My vocabulary changed shape.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a creative piece with the theme…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: I've been underwater for seventy-four days. Not the drowning kind, not lungs-filling, thrashing panic, but…
I've been underwater for seventy-four days.
Not the drowning kind, not lungs-filling, thrashing panic, but something quieter. Like gravity's been turned up, and the world drags just a little harder on my limbs. Sounds come muffled. Colours dulled. As though I'm watching my life through a thick pane of glass.
They say grief is a tide, a rhythmic thing that eventually retreats to give you room to breathe. But sometimes, it stays. Stagnates. Thick and cold and constant, the water soaking into your clothes, your chest, your thoughts. Becomes a weight pressing at your spine, folding itself into the gaps of your day. It fills you up until there's no room for anything else.
We used to come to the reservoir in the summers. On those scorching, breathless afternoons where the sky was a bruised indigo and the earth parched into a thousand cracks. He'd always be the first in, flinging himself forward without hesitation. Just limbs and laughter and a splash that echoed off the rocks. I used to hang back. Pretend I wasn't afraid of how deep it was.
He said he liked how things sounded beneath the water, how the world got quiet, like it was whispering something just for us. He said it made him feel suspended. Weightless. So why, now that I'm stuck here, does it feel so crushing?
The last time we came here together, he stayed in the water longer than anyone should have. I sat on this same ledge, watching him float on his back with his eyes closed, arms wide, like he was trying to take up as much sky as possible. You're going to drown, I told him. Not today, he said. He was always so certain of that.
I come alone now.
I don't swim.
I just sit on the edge, shoes off, heels pressed against the rough concrete, toes skimming the water. I don't speak. There's no one left to listen. And the silence isn't soft anymore. It claws at the inside of my head. It howls.
A woman walked past with a dog once, while I was sitting here. She smiled at me the way people smile at someone who looks like they need it. "Beautiful spot," she said. I nodded. She moved on. She had no idea I was underwater.
I still reach for my phone, sometimes, without thinking. My thumb ghosts over his name before I remember. His contact's still pinned. The last message he sent still unopened. I haven't brought myself to read it.
Sometimes I think it says something ordinary. Something like on my way or pick up milk. Something so small it would make the whole thing unbearable. Other times I think it says something I needed to hear. Something I still need. I keep it closed because once I read it, I have to know which one it is. It feels like a trap door. Like the minute I open it, something will fall out that I can't hold. His profile picture is a cruel artifact: a crooked smile, sunlight caught in his hair, a boy the universe never taught to be afraid, or maybe one who had learned to wear fearlessness so well that even I believed it. I wonder now if there were things he didn't tell me either. Whether beneath his particular kind of loud, he was also sometimes quietly underwater.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: The title is becoming and the stimulus…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: For my personal creative response within the Framework of Personal Journeys, I chose to write a persuasive…
For my personal creative response within the Framework of Personal Journeys, I chose to write a persuasive essay exploring “becoming”, and the stimulus being “you are shaped by every choice you refuse to surrender”. The title and stimulus helped establish my contention that becoming isn’t a result of one’s own belief but of their choices, habits and decisions which they have refused to surrender to challenges.
Exploring the complex web of the formation of "becoming" someone, I drew particularly on Helen Keller, who had experienced great struggles throughout her life. Yet through her daily habit of learning from her teacher, she became a prominent figure in women's rights and became the first deaf-blind person to receive a bachelor's degree. Displaying how an atomic habit of persistence can accumulate and help anyone achieve anything, regardless of the hardships they have endured.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Please mark this VCE Narrative based…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: The bright screen of my apple laptop had started to cause a dull ache behind my temple, and i was only three…
The bright screen of my apple laptop had started to cause a dull ache behind my temple, and i was only three hourse into my study session. If you can even call it that. Because for most of it, i was rethinking my life decisions and searrching up witch college courses did not require a prerequiste of advanced maths. Lets just say, it made me internally cry harder.
The loud sound of the second-hand, run-down TV being used, distracted me the whole time. What should have been background noise quickly turned into the sound of an annoying fly that would’nt stop pestering you, after my dad came into the room to watch his favourite chinese drama. Max volume at that.
“ would you please put the volume down, Baba?” i say , the agitation laced within my words were hard to ignore.
“Ayy, why are you always like this? “ Baba tormented back, “Always studying, but never spending time with me or your mother!” Upon hearing this, the dull ache taking root had become a full on migraine , on which had it’s claws wrapped around my whole head. Hard and unrelenting. The sound of my mother entering the lounge room stopped me from the remark i was about to throw my dad’s way. her presence- which in most cases brang me peace and comfort- made the small, old vicotrian closed-plan area even more smaller. The loud chime of the old grandfather clock mimicked every step my mother took closer to me unitl finally she slid the plate of sliced apples she had with her towards me, her eyebrows knitted with concern and a hint of annoyance.
“ your father is right, Ava, you need to stop studying for once. There are far more important things in life. I mean, me and your father are not going to live forever, no?”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: every stage of life is important
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 100%: Life is Long Some memories do not fade; they settle into the objects that outlast us. When I lift the…
Life is Long
Some memories do not fade; they settle into the objects that outlast us.
When I lift the jewellery box from the shelf, dust loosens beneath my fingers. The brass hinge resists before giving way with a tired sigh. Its corners are worn, its lacquer split by fine cracks, and the gold that once flashed has dulled with age.
My mother gave it to me in the spring of 1968, on the morning I left home.
At eighteen, I noticed only that it was beautiful.
“Mum, I’m ready!”
I called from the doorway with the impatience of someone certain life began elsewhere.
Our town felt stale and unmoving. Rainwater sat permanently in the pothole outside the post office. The bakery’s OPEN sign still flickered though the shop had closed years before. The clock outside the chemist had been stuck at 11:47 for so long no one trusted it anymore.
Two hours away, the city burned in my imagination. Glass towers. Electric streets. Women with sharp heels and sharper purpose. I pictured myself among them, brisk and important, carrying a life that gleamed.
My mother stood by the kitchen table, holding a polished wooden box with a gold diamond set into the lid. Her eyes were wet, though she smiled.
“Ann,” she said, pressing it into my hands, “this little box cannot hold all your dreams, but it can hold a reminder of me.”
Her palms lingered over mine.
“Don’t ever let it be the only beautiful thing you own.”
I laughed softly, kissed her cheek, and tucked the box into my suitcase.
I heard affection in her words.
It would take me years to hear the warning.
I dented the box seventeen years later.
By then I was thirty-five and living high above the city in an apartment whose windows never truly darkened. Office buildings glowed all night, rows of empty desks lit like aquariums. Men in polished shoes queued for taxis each morning with faces already tired before sunrise.
The city had movement, but no motion.
I had become a doctor exactly as I planned. My name sat neatly on a brass plaque. Patients thanked me. My colleagues respected me. My apartment was expensive, immaculate, and used mostly for sleeping.
That night the hospital rang before dawn.
Emergency surgery. Come now.
I dressed in the dark, reached for my keys, and caught the jewellery box with my elbow. It struck the floor with a hollow crack.
I stepped over it and left.
When I returned the next afternoon, the box still lay beside the dresser, its lid crooked.
I picked it up.
The dent was small, hardly visible, yet my thumb kept finding it.
I had spent years building a life that looked complete from the outside: the title, the degree, the skyline. Yet in my hands was the object meant to hold what mattered, and it felt almost weightless.
I lifted the lid.
The cedar scent of the wood rose at once, followed by the faint trace of my mother’s perfume.
Inside was almost nothing.
A photograph of me at eight, grinning through missing teeth. A train ticket from university. And emptiness.
My mother’s words returned with sudden clarity.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Seeds of Change
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Dear Mrs U. Grey, This letter acknowledges the passing of your late husband. We extend our formal condolences.…
Dear Mrs U. Grey,
This letter acknowledges the passing of your late husband. We extend our formal condolences. Unfortunately, he understood his actions would lead to his demise, and retaliation from our officers was necessary.
Central Authority of the Dominion
Dear Mrs U. Grey,
We received your responsive letter and appreciate your confusion. Your husband’s participation in on‑foot rally through the heart of the Capital, contesting the possible re-introduction of conscription to the military. His actions interfered with the ongoings of the CBD and threatened the safety of citizens and officers alike. Conscription is becoming a necessity in our increasingly dire state, with the country’s valuable resources at stake, and in turn, our precious economy.
He should have accepted this fact.
Central Authority of the Dominion
To Mrs U. Grey,
We ask you do not return any more letters to our address. Your escalating anger is noted but cannot be permitted to interfere with the Dominions’ operations. The safety of the entire country is in our best interest, including you, regardless of your emotional state. Your accusation that we are both a “soulless, dictating assembly of butchers,” is not only inaccurate but inflammatory. We are the ones who sustain the quiet, effortless life you take for granted, the stabilising force that prevents disorder from reaching your door. We warn you now: if you should in any form step out of line, like your husband, we will not refrain from correcting you in order to maintain peace and unity within the Dominion.
Central Authority of the Dominion
This letter is directed to Mrs Una Grey.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Demonstrate effective writing skills…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Assigned Difficulty -> Final Piece. Press Start. The screen flashes to life, lighting up the pitch black…
Assigned Difficulty -> Final Piece.
Press Start.
The screen flashes to life, lighting up the pitch black room, asking you to choose your difficulty level.
You don't remember selecting one, but somehow, it's already chosen for you. Some players begin with full health, bonus currency, and loads of popularity points. Others are less fortunate, spawning in the dark. Initially, you are on average starting conditions, full health, average intelligence, average amounts of currency, probably less than average popularity among contestants. But enough about that. You have entered level 1: Introduction.
Level 1: Introduction
* Ready players! Begin...
You open your eyes. Blinding light pouring into the room. You have now made it level 1. 5 million don't make it past this stage due to unforseen circumstances. This level is relatively easy, just cry, eat, play, sleep, repeat. No one expects much from you. You are just one player out of many. Others, however, require much more. Some figure out they can cry for attention, some cry out of necessity, and some don't get a chance too.
Based on your difficulty level, your chances vary. Easy level, probably born in the land of the free, plenty of food, full health, but some are not as lucky. Medium level, equal chance of being born anywhere cool, maybe Western Europe. Nice adventure spots. Hard level, Sometimes there's no food or drink, and for some, it's the inescapable horror of sickness. But your only task right now is too sleep and eventually, you will progress to level 2: Development.
Level 2: Development
"Congratulations! You have proceeded to the next level!"
Here, another 5 million continue. The odds were now in their favor. Clearly, He adds more in your favor this time. This level is all about exploration and hitting those milestones. All difficulty levels must experience this phenomenon. You begin to take steps! Your "one small step for man is one giant leap for mankind!" You begin to say words! Some players are boring, only saying 'mama' or 'dada', but you say 'again'. Interesting.
At this stage, players begin to imagine a world different to this one. For some, its dragons and princesses. Others pretend to become an astronaut. Your ideas become limitless. A small minority perhaps do not imagine at all. But within your imagination, ideas are still set. Being for a child like you, but probably important.
Based on your difficulty level, your experience moving forward changes. Easy level. Most things are handed to you. Wealth, popularity points given freely. Medium level, average but given hope. Hard level. Most start with 50% fewer resources. But you, you're doing just fine.
Actually, you're not just fine, your lucky! Developing well. However, you are getting older. You now have to progress to level 3: Expansion.
Level 3: Expansion.
"Your journey is just beginning! keep going"
Another 6 million must progress. You, as well as the majority of players must upgrade your intelligence. Very important. Achievements can now be unlocked. Based on your stats, your choices differ. Those on easy have better chances. Rules are more important, affecting your character.
Some players now gain bonus points disguised as luck. They unlock achievements faster because of their chances. One such achievement includes. Not everyone can unlock this, only those with high popularity. This will greatly affect character.
Achievements can now be converted to points. some players become the bullies, while some are. If you don't have the required achievements you losing points. this group of girls don't like you. They make fun of your hair and shoes. losing popularity points. Your begining to fall behind. But that's ok, it's expected at this stage. You might catch up eventually.
Your intelligence now influences which perks you can unlock. The higher intelligence, the more recognition, and the better the perks. Here, some players cannot imagine anymore. They have good perks!