VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: VCE persuasive oral - not part of…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: "You need to learn to be bored." Growing up, it was my parents' favourite phrase. In fact, we still have this…
"You need to learn to be bored."
Growing up, it was my parents' favourite phrase. In fact, we still have this rule in my family, a rule I'm sure many of you have too: if we're at the dinner table, our phones must be switched off. As a child, I regarded this as torture. My parents were forcing me to endure what felt like every child's worst nightmare: boredom. Yet, what I didn't realise then was that my parents weren't punishing me, they were teaching me something essential.
With the rise of "iPad kids", we are watching attention, creativity and resilience diminish as children increasingly avoid boredom. As teenagers, we see them everywhere: toddlers clutching screens in prams, cafes and cars, during the most formative stage of their life. That’s why parents must stop allowing children to avoid boredom, as learning to tolerate it is essential for healthy development.
Firstly, constant digital stimulation has made children intolerant of boredom. Boredom is the uncomfortable feeling of low mental stimulation; one we instinctively try to escape. For today's children, that escape is only a swipe away. Every swipe on a device triggers the release of dopamine - the brain's feel-good chemical. Flooding a child’s mind with this artificial reward leads to what neuroscientists call the "dopamine-deficit state" – and if that sounds alarming, it's because it is. In this state, real life can no longer meet children's unnatural baseline of stimulation and boredom becomes harder to tolerate.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: VCE persuasive oral - not part of…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: "You need to learn to be bored." Growing up, it was my parents' favourite phrase. In fact, we still have this…
"You need to learn to be bored."
Growing up, it was my parents' favourite phrase. In fact, we still have this rule in my family, a rule I'm sure many of you have too: if we're at the dinner table, our phones must be switched off. As a child, I regarded this as torture. My parents were forcing me to endure what felt like every child's worst nightmare: boredom. Yet, what I didn't realise then was that my parents weren't punishing me, they were teaching me something essential.
With the rise of "iPad kids", we are watching attention, creativity and resilience diminish as children increasingly avoid boredom. As teenagers, we see them everywhere: toddlers clutching screens in prams, cafes and cars, during the most formative stage of their life. That’s why parents must stop allowing children to avoid boredom, as learning to tolerate it is essential for healthy development.
Firstly, constant digital stimulation has made children intolerant of boredom. Boredom is the uncomfortable feeling of low mental stimulation; one we instinctively try to escape. For today's children, that escape is only a swipe away. Every swipe on a device triggers the release of dopamine - the brain's feel-good chemical. Flooding a child’s mind with this artificial reward leads to what neuroscientists call the "dopamine-deficit state" – and if that sounds alarming, it's because it is. In this state, real life can no longer meet children's unnatural baseline of stimulation and boredom becomes harder to tolerate.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Prompt: A single spark can transform a…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: It all originated from a single spark. A match so faint that it was indistinguishable from its own shadow. This…
It all originated from a single spark. A match so faint that it was indistinguishable from its own shadow. This spark, however, travelled with the frantic assistance of paint thinner, which clung to the concrete prison walls like a dying breath. The distinct scent of salty rain and burnt plastic stagnated over the alienated town, a heavy, chemical shroud. Faces of cheerful children were plastered against the slabs of concrete—pleas for a future that would forever haunt my mind. It felt as though the town had calcified into a permanent state where justice was a myth and silence was the law.
“Violence is not the answer to violence!” a voice cried from the safety of the dark.
“Those offenders deserved to rot in their cells! Not to burn!”
“Find him! Catch the man who did this!”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: demand progreess
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Demand progress For centuries, protest had stood on its forefront, desperate for the social change. People…
Demand progress
For centuries, protest had stood on its forefront, desperate for the social change. People repeatedly challenge issues ranging from imbalance of gender equality to global political decision. From a birds eye view, protest may appear to be nothing more than crowds marching through streets, holding signs and chanting slogans. However, the depth of protest is far more about a public refusal of silence, it is an act of courage that allows ordinary people to confront bias and demand a need of progress to better, despite their wealth, authority, race or influence. Those who refuse to accept had repeated demonstrated that courage can leave a significant mark on society. Although their voice may be small, but the impact can extend far beyond their time, inspiring more to come. So the conclusion revealed itself clear, ------
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Aim is to argue. This is for oral…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: In Australia, over half of young females drop out of sport, with many blaming lack of support as key reasons.…
In Australia, over half of young females drop out of sport, with many blaming lack of support as key reasons. Some may believe it is due to lack of ability, however it is because local sporting clubs are failing to address the barriers such as judgement, unequal funding and limited role models. We as a community must prioritise the participation of young females in sport to foster a safe and friendly environment for all players, throughout their lives.
Negative stereotypes and embarrassment play a major role in the discouragement of female participation in sport, especially during adolescence. From an early age, females are encouraged to view sport as masculine and ‘unfeminine’ and that girls are too delicate and fragile for male-dominated sports. This marginalisation, often reinforced by media and the community, intentionally or unintentionally, causes girls to drop out due to low confidence or fear of being judged and mislabelled regarding their sexuality or femininity. Once most females reach adolescence, they are undergoing numerous overwhelming transitions. Their bodies are undergoing rapid physical changes, they are just beginning high school, and are pressured to engage in competitive leagues of sport. This number of rapid overwhelming changes can make young females more self-conscious and ultimately withdraw themselves from sport. According to a report by Youth Sports Trust, 62% of young females want to participate in sport at school, however they hesitated due to lack confidence and fear of judgement. This confirms females possess a desire to participate, however due to the perception of environments being unwelcome or dismissive of females, it feels like they missed an opportunity. If local clubs can demonstrate inclusive and inviting surroundings, it will help boost female participation as it will help build females’ confidence and make them feel accepted. To accomplish this, we can start by encouraging social connection between all players and club members by throwing club-organised events to create new and strengthen team bonds.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Discovery Joy
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Hues of crimson, amber and tuscany blend into the marble of the early morning sky. Sun peers through the stand…
Hues of crimson, amber and tuscany blend into the marble of the early morning sky. Sun peers through the stand of acacias trees, as the summer zephyrs brushed through the window of Grandma’s farmhouse attic, waking up Mia. Silence. Nothing but the symphony of the dawn choruses melding with the cicadas chirping. This was unusual; unlikely. Silence absent her whole life suddenly swamped the atmosphere around her, with a steady pace thudding in her chest, the echo of her breathing sounding ever so pristine clear.
Back home, silence never existed, as did her idea of a perfect family. Every morning began with the constant bickering of her parents ricocheting through the paper thin walls of Mia’s bedroom, The air thickened with the rage boiling inside her. Her desire to take action against her parents was crushed at her utter reluctancy, deep down knowing her actions lacked the impact needed. Her chest tightened, energy drained as the weight on her shoulders anchored her to the rough wooden floor, as she puddled on the floor, blending into the confinement of her room.
Descending the stairs of the farmhouse, Mia awaits the chaos to begin. Yet again, nothing. Just the sweet aroma of honey drizzled upon Grandma’s fresh batch of pancakes, with a hint of the lavender scent wafting through the porch of the farmhouse. Tip-toeing into the kitchen, Mia’s stiff, tightened chest softened to the sight of her grandmother placing the cut-up bananas around her pancakes, forming flowers. She recognised the feeling: love, but what scared her was the thought that she wouldn’t find this again. Her parents' love for each other was gone, what was even left to share with her? As Grandma reached for the cupboard, Mia’s stomach twisted into a knot as she was…
…Suddenly back in her house, warily stepping out toward the battlefield of the war between her parents. In the eyes of 7-year-old Mia, society would expect her to start weeping, pleading to stop, maybe even run up to her parents, and vanish all their issues. But the true discovery that day uncovered another layer to her trauma, that she indeed, was the issue.
“I should have never had a child with you!” declared her father.
“Do you think I did either?” her mother agreed, “She is our only bond to each other, our pure bond of hatred”
Now Mia knew: her life was the bane of their existence . Her fingernails dug into her palms, as the tension settled into the air. The anger bottled up from her young age gushed through each vein in her body. Glaring at her for a split second, as her expression blanked, her parents began bickering again. The blood that once surged through her body drained at an instant. The walls trapped her in her own spiraling thoughts, as her chin quivered, the silent sob overpowered by the constant arguing. She scans the room for an escape, the antique cupboard. Inching past the chaotic argument, Mia locked herself inside, when she realised she had found her new home. Curled into a ball, she detached herself from the harsh truth: Mia is nothing.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: writing about country
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: A Disconnected Country Wound This country has a scar. Severed from itself. Buried among a sprawling, silent…
A Disconnected Country
Wound
This country has a scar.
Severed from itself.
Buried among a sprawling, silent tide of society’s castoffs.
A submerged landscape. Drowning everything beneath a stagnant sea of refuse.
The air is hot.
Suffocating.
Every breath taken is a stark reminder that this country is now broken, beyond repair.
And it's OUR fault.
There’s a buzz. Life here is a rarity, an iridescent haze hangs over the sludge. The humming of flies swarming over the landscape of debris and decay. This is all that’s left.
It's repulsive.
However you were right, all those years ago when we questioned you and looked to you to grant us change. But our country is naturally regenerative isn't it? Is Climate change just another Generation Z progressive tantrum?
I wonder if that's still the case.
Memory
I’m lucky.
I remember this country before. It was a vast, breathing masterpiece- ancient, untamed, and luminous in its quiet power.
The air was pure.
Calm.
The sky stretched endlessly, a deep and generous blue that seemed to cradle the land beneath it. Sunlight poured over the deep red earth in golden sheets, warming it and igniting the colours of the bush into something almost dreamlike. Rivers ran clear, unhurried, threading through the land like veins of glass.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: 'Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 100%: Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust January in the Old Land was a frigid, stormy period. Wisps of dust covered the…
Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust
January in the Old Land was a frigid, stormy period.
Wisps of dust covered the barren wasteland; the lifeless dormant trees whispered. Underneath the high-rise sun, the ripe apples – fruits of all knowledge – fell in sequence.
They came for the apples, seeking to caress the symbol of creation. To have plucked it from its stem and prayed to their thousand-year-old souls.
In sight of eternal life, they scraped the dry earth in their pilgrimage to the Old Land. Their eyes, filmed with the grey dust of the wasteland, scanned the horizon for the curve of the ripening fruit. They did not want to survive; they wanted to outrun the grave – to be more than human. They sought to be cleansed.
This was the Elders’ burden; they claimed to be the keepers of life, yet their hands were perpetually stained grey. They had spent so many centuries dissecting the anatomy of ash that they had forgotten the presence of air. They taught the Bright Generation that to live forever, one must first master the decay.
But in that month of January, the Dark Plague came. It killed insidiously as it progressed from a simple cold into the decay of ash and dust. It marked the season of forgetting. During this period, the Old Land turned its back on the sun; a jagged silence, it felt, refused to thaw. The sun’s cycle became irregular; it slowed down as if it were an ember gasping in ash. The apples softened and fell one by one: the Old Land was dying.
The Elders were custodians; they had interpreted the scripture of decay. They made it their mission to guide the Bright Generation along a path toward eternal life.
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.