VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Protest essay title: revolution…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 67.5%: Revelation • 2024, may 25th - melbourne The road hums beneath thousands of shoes. Each step carries a story,…
Revelation
• 2024, may 25th - melbourne
The road hums beneath thousands of shoes. Each step carries a story, like asphalt pressed in fingerprints. Flags ripple above our heads, as the afternoon sun warms our backs. I walk beside people I've never met, but somehow, they all feel familiar. We are here because michael long is walking again, twenty years after the first long walk, when he protested against racism and demanded change in the AFL.
• ABC News Clip, may 25th
"Two decades after the historic protest, michael long leads thousands in the 20th anniversary of the long walk. Calling for unity and respect."
They call it a celebration, but to me it feels more like a reminder that the fight isn't over.
Dad told me about the first long walk, he sat on the couch and turned on the news, proud and hopeful. He thought it would change things forever.
He was wrong.
I remember playing my first AFL game last season, hearing the same racist words that were shouted twenty years ago. The club said it was 'disappointing'. The league said it was 'unacceptable'. Then it was forgotten.
• AFL Statement April 2024
"The AFL remains committed to eradicating racism out of our game."
These words are powerful when spoken, but weak when nothing follows.
I hear the chants "always was, always will be." A group of students next to me hold a banner that reads, "Still we walk." I join the rhythm, the clapping in time, feeling the beat rise through my chest.
I think of Adam Goodes standing alone on the SCG as the crowd booed him. I think of Eddie Betts, smiling through interviews that barely hid the pain. Then I think of dad, giving up playing because he was tired of feeling like a target on the field.
"protest is a way of forming resilience, to those afraid to stand up.
This is what michael referred to when he started walking again, its simple, but means everything.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: When We Roar”
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: The air smelt of smoke sweat and hope. It was October 2022, the night Melbourne joined the women, life and…
The air smelt of smoke sweat and hope.
It was October 2022, the night Melbourne joined the women, life and freedom marches that ripped across the globe. Rain smudged the chalk slogans drawn on Swanston Street: "Stop killing Women", "Her name was Savannah". Umbrellas became sheilds, wet cardboard placards drooped like exhausted arms. But no one left. No one could.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, I thought of the generations of women who had stood before us, women who protested barefoot with voices hoarse from years of dismissal. My mother, who marched for equal pay in 1972. My grandmother, who never marched at all because good girls do not cause trouble.
We are there trouble now.
The chants started soft, almost hesitant: "My body, my choice!". Then louder: "No justice, no peace". The city trembled with the sound of resistance. Protest is inheritance. Each generation passes down both wounds and the will to fight.
Around me, a mosaic of women surged forward. Nurses, students, mothers, migrants. A girl with purple hair climbed the steps of the State Library holding a candle like a sword. She shouted, "We are done being afraid!". Her voice cracked, and in that crack was power, the sound of something breaking and something else beginning.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Section B - Creating a text…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Uprising "I cant breathe." Those were George Floyd's final words as he was forcibly held down by a white police…
Uprising
"I cant breathe." Those were George Floyd's final words as he was forcibly held down by a white police officer who chocked him until his last breath. It was not fair. It was not fair that one white man would take the life of an innocent Black man and only receive a 22.5 year prison sentence when Floyd's daughter forever lost the one person she could call her father, the person who was her rock in life. It was not fair that a dozen protests had to be conducted in order for justice to be brought to the forefront. It was not fair that Floyd's family had to bury their own son, father and loving boyfriend, and be dismissed, being told it was justice. What kind of justice is that? What kind of country is America?
George Floyd was not just buried underground in the hands of Derrek Chauvin, alone. But by the sickness of America, its greed, its racism, it unequivocal cowardice. That same America that brought Breonna Taylor, Emmett Till and Treyvone Martin to the ground. Your system pledges to protect the whole of America, except us. The world still asks "But what did the police officer do wrong?" Ignoring racist abuse & silence against Black American was easy by physically burying their bodies and bold voices. It is easier to oppose justice. It is easier to silence voices you know hold an immense amount of power.
And, America, where were you? While Floyd was be suffocated in pain as he merely watched his life be stolen from him, You sat in silence and chose not to speak up until us Black Americans did and gave your Government a horrible
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: TITLE: The power within us all.…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Good afternoon all. Today, I stand before you all, before Australia to deliver one simple message. Stand up for…
Good afternoon all.
Today, I stand before you all, before Australia to deliver one simple message. Stand up for those who can’t speak for themselves. That is power, the power we are all so blessed with.
While we are extremely fortunate in this country, it’s no so often that we are exposed to injustice and the blatant violation of human rights. While injustice is not common, on the rare occasion is does, our lack of speaking up remains too prevalent. In such a modern society like this one we all call home, we must ask ourselves, how could we let this happen, how can we not protest, to not protest is acceptance?
It’s time as a united nation; we come to face to face with the injustice faced by those attempting to seek refuge in this country. Use the power to speak within us for good. Thousands of people are seen as just another person, another number. We shall not reduce them to that, they are unique individuals just like you and I, with families and a story to tell.
The problem in this country stems from how we welcome these refugees into our country we should be considered privileged to call home. Families escaping treacherous conditions from their home country, come here as a restart. How do we welcome these survivors? With detention cells.
Refugees already have been through a risky ordeal to reach Australia, and we are supposedly meant to welcome them with open arms, instead we throw them into worse conditions. That is our power and privilege going to waste, allowing for this absolute disgrace. If we are not to stand up against, we accept we accept the support system in place for those seeking asylum in this country in which is an absolute disaster. We as an accepting collective subject human beings to overcrowding, filthy conditions while not even having the guarantee of the right to basic privacy. It’s time we no longer stood by this.
After everything these individuals, not stats individuals have been through. They have been from hell and back and have survived. They are survivors. They have turned their will to survive into power; it’s time we use our power to stand up for them.
It’s time to embrace these survivors, their values, their strength, their bravery. These are values we as a nation should learn from. It’s time to see the arrival of these survivors as an opportunity to grow and wrap our arms around them, as they can be our future. But instead, they are left alone and helpless, unable to give anything to their new community, as we sit back and allow for them to striped of everything, and their words silenced.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: turning points
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: “The Night Refuses to End” There’s something about 3:41 a.m. that feels eternal. A time too late to be night,…
“The Night Refuses to End”
There’s something about 3:41 a.m. that feels eternal. A time too late to be night, too early to be morning — a hollow between worlds. That’s when I hear it: the creak of my ceiling, the hum of silence louder than sound, the thud of my own thoughts begging to rest.
But I don’t sleep. I haven’t in weeks. Not really.
Insomnia isn’t just the absence of sleep — it’s the presence of everything else. Every doubt. Every unfinished assignment. Every version of myself I promised I’d become by now.
The First Descent
It started small. Year 12 pressures. Procrastinated essays. “I’ll do it after dinner.” “After this episode.” “After I fix my life.”
Spoiler: I never fixed my life.
I told myself I was waiting for motivation. What I was really doing was negotiating with failure.
Sleep became collateral damage — traded in for late-night productivity that never arrived. I wasn’t staying up to work. I was staying up to avoid the shame of not working.
But the work didn’t get done. And the guilt? It festered.
Every morning I’d wake with an ache behind my eyes and a pit in my stomach.
I became two versions of myself. the frantic dreamer and the exhausted drifter.
I walked through school like a spectre. Eyes bloodshot. Words sluggish. Heart racing from too much caffeine and not enough conviction.
My friends called me “high functioning.” My teachers called me “potential.”
I called myself a fraud.
The Illusion of Control
One night, I sat at my desk. Homework splayed around me like corpses on a battlefield. My laptop glowed a ghostly blue.
The clock read 2:09 am.
I blinked.
3:32.
I hadn’t typed a word. Just stared. Trapped in thought-loops like vines choking the last breath out of me.
That’s when I realised: I wasn’t living. I was performing. Rehearsing the perfect student. Pretending to be the student I thought everyone expected. Pretending to carry it all.
But I was Sisyphus, and my boulder was built from overdue deadlines, unmet expectations, and sleepless nights.
And every morning, I rolled it uphill.
And every night, it crushed me again.
The Fracture
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Resist and Persist Stimulus: If…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Nia The morning air clung to Nia's skin - thick, smoky and alive. She adjusted the mask on her daughter's…
Nia
The morning air clung to Nia's skin - thick, smoky and alive. She adjusted the mask on her daughter's face, the soft pink one patterned with flowers. Sky always rebelled, wearing the mask upside down, a small gesture that made Nia smile despite her stomach tightening. The gesture steadied her hands. The mask she realised, was more than protection. It was the small space between fear and hope, between was what has been hidden and what was still dared to be seen through collective persistence.
Around them, the city pulsed. Drums echoed down the street, and a thousand breaths rose into the same heavy sky. Nia had been to many protests before, but this one carried more weight. Not louder, not larger, just weighted against years of oppression. It was as if history itself was pressing down on the air. Each chant carried persistance, something ancient and aching.
Say their names.
The words throbbed through her chest like a heartbeat. Although, Nia was not going to fall back into line, being swallowed by the crowd. She was going to stand up, with her breath short beneath her mask.
Her mother had said similar words years ago, though masks were different back then - thinner, handmade, pulled tight repetitively against gas and fear. You wear it to protect yourself, her mother told her. Don't let it silence your resistance. Continue to stand up and persist. That voice clung to her now, hovering just behind the chanting crowd.
She looked down at Sky, her small hand clutching a sign sticky with apple juice and glitter. The letters shimmered in the sunlight, crooked but defiant. My Life Matters. Nia's breath caught again. The sign looked fragile, childlike even, but there was an act of resistance in the letters that was unbreakable behind the the mask of glitter, something radiant.
As they moved forward, the air thickened. A line of officers stood ahead, masks blank and identical, their faces unreadable. They stood with a tremendous amount of persistence, not moving an inch despite rebellion from the crowd. It was as if they could hear Nia's mothers voice masked behind the crowd, telling them to continue standing against the defiant crowd.
Sky's hand trembled in hers, their joined breaths syncing for a moment before Nia realised - she was holding not just her daughter's hand, but the fragile thread of belief that the world could still be fair.
Then Sky let go.
For a split second, Nia's breath stopped altogether. The crowd swelled around her, the chant breaking apart into shouts and static. Nia searched desperately, eyes burning, pushing hard against the defiant protesters, until she saw the flash of pink shoes weaving through the legs of strangers, Her daughter, standing tall against the wall of black masks.
Nia wanted to scream, but no sound came. She could only watch as Sky lifted her glittering sign toward the light.
Sky
Sky didn't really know what a protest was. To her, it felt like a parade - voices, colours, drums. Everyone wore masks, even the police, and that made it hard for her to tell who was smiling and who was cross. Her own mask smelt like soap and crayons. Every breath she took, the inside of it warmed and fogged. It felt like talking to herself - like her breath was trying to tell her a secret.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: frame work of protest
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Aayan English rough draft section B The vibrant rays of the sun crept through the sheer curtains like pale…
Aayan English rough draft section B
The vibrant rays of the sun crept through the sheer curtains like pale silk, tumbling onto the linen sheets of a bed much too large for solo occupancy. The sheets, white as flawless snow, rustled softly beneath Abraham as he shifted beneath them. The morning light twirled off the glossy silver frames on his walls, his family beaming in smiles too perfect to be real. It fell on the new leather covers of Bibles of various colours, spines uncreased, lined up together on a shelf of blackwood. They gleamed not through use, but through being displayed, faith as decor, morality as ornament.
Outside, somewhere beyond the panes of manicured lawns, the faintest light of dawn struggled to make its way between the gaps of another roof, corrugated iron, rusted and tired, barely hanging on. It fell on Belly's temple, rousing him awake before birds could muster the courage to sing. That single strip of light was always the first to find him each morning, carrying the faintest promise of a day yet to come.
He moved softly across the patched floorboards, walking around the weak spots that groaned under pressure. His father was on the couch, the smell of alcohol lingering like regret. Belly smiled softly; his father drank what he pleased, but still worked every day, still said "son" proudly. He washed his school shoes in the metal bucket, the water turning grey, and hoped maybe today it would be different.
Abraham's breakfast was set on porcelain. He read headlines while his butler poured a glass so transparent it appeared invisible with orange juice squeezed fresh. His father entered, a politician with a too-practiced smile, thanking his son for his latest "effort," a charity social media posting, applauded by people who'd never known hunger. Abraham smiled. He wanted to make the world a better place, to do good, as his father professed.
That afternoon, his vehicle drove through the poorer parts of town, a first for cracked pavement, peeling paint, and faces that didn't look up as he passed. There he saw the small restaurant, the rusty sign, the faded letters, the smell of oil and salt. He peeked inside. The food was old, possibly expired, the walls stained by smoke. But there was laughter there, families sharing meals that wasn't perfect, but theirs. What Abraham did not know was that this small restaurant catered to the poverty line, people for whom this was the single place they could afford to eat. To him, who was brought up amidst disinfectant and glass, it was unhygienic, unsafe. He told himself people were better than that, that shutting it down would save them.
He called the authorities.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Protest piece
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Protest Piece - Cry Out Dear diary, Newyork feels different tonight, It feels as if it's holding its breath,…
Protest Piece - Cry Out
Dear diary,
Newyork feels different tonight, It feels as if it's holding its breath, as if the city is afraid of the very machines they once invited in. As I stand at my window, I can't help but notice the sense of resistance, how alive it all is, people down below surging through 'do not enter' signs, moving like a single heartbeat against the cold of the networks that govern us. Their chants rise high, cancelling out any static from the drones lurking above them all, bouncing off glass towers where glowing billboards scream messages written by algorithms, not people.
At first I was scared of the artifical vocies that beam through the fearless streets, sounding inhuman, almost like thunder programmed to strike on command. The blinding red lights scanning the air in search of warm human breaths, trying to pick a target. In the moment, I was scared, I wanted to hide, close the curtians, hide my face, so they beleive I was complaint - invisible.
As I looked closer, I saw families, friends, feelings, something these cold ones would never understand, form together like one, clasping hands together in warmth and power, and signs lifted above heads painted with words AI could not predict - messy, human, imperfect. Faces were lit, not by the harsh glow of drones above, but from hope and courage, something so unpredictable, so powerful, that no code could over wright it.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Find My Way "The caterpillarI…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Date: 22nd April, 2025 Dear Diary, I can’t lie, this is my first time using a diary, and writing was never my…
Date: 22nd April, 2025
Dear Diary,
I can’t lie, this is my first time using a diary, and writing was never my strong point in school either. But my therapist said that a problem written down is a problem half solved. She says a lot of things that take me minutes to understand, but I guess this one made sense. My mind is like a cluttered room that I can’t seem to clean, every corner filled with overwhelming thoughts that I can’t seem to deal with. It wasn’t always like this, I mean I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t an overthinker, but it was never this bad. My mind is filled with so many feelings, so many emotions and thoughts, that take up most of the space, but it's also a blur. I am trying my best to describe this indescribable feeling, but it’s like my mind is so overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings, that it's gone numb to them.
It all started after the passing of my mother. She passed away two weeks ago, and it hasn’t hit me. I was, and still am in such shock, that I’m truly at a loss for words. I’ve always been kind of emotionally closed off, but people seem to think that I don’t feel, or that I don’t care, but I wish I could let them visit my mind, because my thoughts and feelings really speak louder than words of grief. I’ve never been good with words, but trust me, I feel. I feel everything around me. I’m like a sponge, I soak up other people’s happiness, sadness, anger, and in this case, I had no one’s emotions to soak up but my own. That was difficult. Being the only child, my mother’s passing truly affected me like no other, to say the least.
This caused me to miss almost a term of school, and guess what year I’m in? Year 12. It feels like someone’s praying for my downfall, and trust me when I say this, their prayers sure are working. My mother’s passing affected me more than I show, my friends are beginning to treat me just like usual, with the banter, and playful insults, but I wish I could show them my mind, and how exhausted I truly am. I am a VCE student, in a selective school, so competition is high. Seeing everyone study for hours at school, while I can barely stay focused on one pending task, really did crush my spirit. I tried being kind to myself, telling myself that “I’ve had a rough year” and although it’s true, I can’t stop the constant stress and worry about my future. My circumstances limited my ability to get the ATAR I want, and that’s fine, because there's the equity schemes and all, but I am still worried. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I just wish that I could talk to my future self, to ask where I’m at, and how I’m doing. Hopefully, it will all work out in the end.
Kind regards,
Pia
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: speech with motif
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: What does a puzzle mean to you? Perhaps it’s the patience that lies within searching for the ‘right’ piece. The…
What does a puzzle mean to you? Perhaps it’s the patience that lies within searching for the ‘right’ piece. The hope that each fragment, no matter how small- holds a place in the ‘bigger picture’. Or maybe, it’s the satisfaction of seeing ‘chaos’ turn into 'order’- something which we all can agree is the foundation of trusted decision making in this room.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: „It does not matter how slowly you go…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: The gym smells of sweat and rubber, a tang that sticks to my throat and curls into my lungs. Metal clangs like…
The gym smells of sweat and rubber, a tang that sticks to my throat and curls into my lungs. Metal clangs like hammers striking in the distance, but closer, sharper — each echo a pulse through the floor, through my bones. Fluorescent lights buzz above, restless insects that never pause, their cold glare bouncing off the mirrors and the steel racks. I wrap the coarse tape around my wrists, feeling the sting of yesterday’s calluses. One more rep. Just one more.
Somewhere between the rhythm of my own breathing and the whine of the treadmill, I see him — Ronaldo, sprinting up a hill in darkness, frost clouding each laboured breath. I hear another voice, ragged but insistent: Goggins, barking inside my skull, “Stay hard. Don’t stop.” Their echoes chase me, chasing every inch of my sluggish limbs. But tonight, my muscles feel heavier than their words. My arms shake under the bar; my legs feel like lead. I want to quit, to leave the tape frayed and the weights unmoved.
I close my eyes and the world shifts. Ten years old, rain drenching my jersey, mud clinging to my shins. Dad’s whistle cuts through the storm, sharp, certain, unstoppable. Each kick of the ball is freedom — wild, thrilling, untethered. Laughter spills across the field like wind through leaves. Back then, I didn’t chase perfection. I chased nothing but joy.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Use at least one stimuli in piece
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: Uprising "I cant breathe." Those were George Floyd's final words as he was forcibly held down by a white police…
Uprising
"I cant breathe." Those were George Floyd's final words as he was forcibly held down by a white police officer who chocked him until his last breath. It was not fair. It was not fair that one white man would take the life of an innocent Black man and only receive a 22.5 year prison sentence when Floyd's daughter forever lost the one person she could call her father, the person who was her rock in life. It was not fair that a dozen protests had to be conducted in order for justice to be brought to the forefront. It was not fair that Floyd's family had to bury their own son, father and loving boyfriend, and be dismissed, being told it was justice. What kind of justice is that? What kind of country is America?
George Floyd was not just buried underground in the hands of Derrek Chauvin, alone. But by the sickness of America, its greed, its racism, it unequivocal cowardice. That same America that brought Breonna Taylor, Emmett Till and Treyvone Martin to the ground. Your system pledges to protect the whole of America, except us. The world still asks "But what did the police officer do wrong?" Ignoring racist abuse & silence against Black American was easy by physically burying their bodies and bold voices. It is easier to oppose justice. It is easier
to silence voices you know hold an immense amount of power.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: not writen about a stimulus it is my…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: I never thought this day would come, let alone so soon. I thought it would take decades, but it only took 3…
I never thought this day would come, let alone so soon.
I thought it would take decades, but it only took 3 years for our disruptive and destructive reign of proper chaos to come to a close over the United Kingdom on the 26th of April 2025.
I feel a great sense of pride towards everyone who took part in this success. Finally, we get to hang up our high vis, a potent reminder of all the blood, sweat and tears my group, Just Stop Oil, and I endured. As others involved in Just Stop Oil's success spend multiple years in prison and are abused by members of the public, press and powers that be for daring to speak up and initiate a change.
Our goal was to ignite a blaze of orange that couldn’t be ignored.One that captured everyone’s eye, stopped the nation in its tracks, and forced the government to confront what they’d tried to ignore.
After all, their plans to issue more than two dozen new oil and gas licences would have condemned people to a future fuelled by terror. A future where people experience the unthinkable, social collapse, civil unrest and mass death. All starting with the negatives we are experiencing today as towns go under due to mass flooding and an endless summer.
A future I did not want to continue to endure. So, I joined Just Stop Oil. A group dedicated to stopping the government's destructive ideals. I refused to sit back and witness our collective future being traded away. So, I joined. to help prevent the government from fuelling terror, helping to raise the stakes. To make sure our resistance couldn’t be ignored.
Our actions were designed to enrage. I can still feel the cold weight of the soup can in my hand, the shocking splash against the protective glass of a masterpiece, the sound echoing our own silent screams. I remember the symphony of car horns on the M25, a chorus of fury directed at us, but it was nothing compared to our own rage towards an oblivious government determined to condemn people to an unimaginable living hell they couldn't see it. But we did, and we forced them to look.
Through our actions, we were able to stop the government's destructive ideals, forcing them to ban the issuance of new oil and gas licenses. But this success, achieved over three years gained worldwide attention, coming a price. With our victory came fierce criticism and attempts by influential platforms to undermine our influence.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: creative short story inspired by your…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: Machan (brother) A fuzzy green blur spiraled high into the fiery setting sky, a lazy off-spin from my uncle…
Machan (brother)
A fuzzy green blur spiraled high into the fiery setting sky, a lazy off-spin from my uncle that drifted like a cloud before plopping onto the scratchy synthetic grass. Crack. My cousin struck it perfectly, the thwack echoing against the fence and faded brick wall, before rocketing into the neighbour’s fence with a hollow thud. Again. My cousin dropped my bat and his side threw up their hands in unison, cheering in jubilation and triumph, claiming it was a six. My uncle barked, his voice rough and theatrical, swearing it was out. Someone yelled, “Eh machan, don’t cheat!” and the backyard erupted in laughter, raw and unrestrained.
The fake turf underfoot was dry and patchy, the kind that poked at your ankles. Mosquitoes buzzed around me, latching onto me and jerking away at the last second before I could get a slap off. The smell of frying cutlets clung to the air long after the plate was empty, and its aroma wafted its way outside through the window.
Inside, the kitchen buzzed with my aunties’ chatter.
Sinhala and English gossip and laughter overlapped like static. Appachchi sat outside with my uncles, a carrom board balanced between them on a sketchy stool, flicking the wooden coins with expert precision. The smell of citronella coils mixed with the spice of devilled prawns and chicken sat in an oily bowl of chilli paste that filled the room. Their laughter carried through the night air, mingling with the faint buzz of a distant Sri Lankan news report.
In the corner of my dads office sat my suitcase, half zipped up. The boarding school packing list was taped to the fridge, next to a photo of my sister and I in my Year 6 uniform. I kept catching Amma’s glance. She’d look at me, then at the suitcase, then away again, pretending to fuss over something on the counter.
When the sun dipped below the rooftops and the mozzie coils started burning, the karaoke machine came alive. The uncles sang off-key, and the mums clapped along out of rhythm. I sat on the couch, with my friends next to me, admiring.
That night, after everyone left, I sat by my suitcase. The zip teeth glinted in the dim light. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to leave, to live without Amma’s voice echoing through the house.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Resist and Persist Stimulus: If…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Nia The morning air clung to Nia's skin - thick, smoky and alive. She adjusted the mask on her daughter's face,…
Nia
The morning air clung to Nia's skin - thick, smoky and alive. She adjusted the mask on her daughter's face, the soft pink one patterned with flowers. Sky always rebelled, wearing the mask upside down, a small gesture that made Nia smile despite her stomach tightening. The gesture steadied her hands. The mask she realised, was more than protection. It was the small space between fear and hope, between was what has been hidden and what was still dared to be seen through collective persistence.
Around them, the city pulsed. Drums echoed down the street, and a thousand breaths rose into the same heavy sky. Nia had been to many protests before, but this one carried more weight. Not louder, not larger, just weighted against years of oppression. It was as if history itself was pressing down on the air. Each chant carried persistance, something ancient and aching.
Say their names.
The words throbbed through her chest like a heartbeat. Although, Nia was not going to fall back into line, being swallowed by the crowd. She was going to stand up, with her breath short beneath her mask.
Her mother had said similar words years ago, though masks were different back then - thinner, handmade, pulled tight repetitively against gas and fear. You wear it to protect yourself, her mother told her. Don't let it silence your resistance. Continue to stand up and persist. That voice clung to her now, hovering just behind the chanting crowd.
She looked down at Sky, her small hand clutching a sign sticky with apple juice and glitter. The letters shimmered in the sunlight, crooked but defiant. My Life Matters. Nia's breath caught again. The sign looked fragile, childlike even, but there was an act of resistance in the letters that was unbreakable behind the the mask of glitter, something radiant.
As they moved forward, the air thickened. A line of officers stood ahead, masks blank and identical, their faces unreadable. They stood with a tremendous amount of persistence, not moving an inch despite rebellion from the crowd. It was as if they could hear Nia's mothers voice masked behind the crowd, telling them to continue standing against the defiant crowd.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Speak Up Protest Stimulus: A)…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 65%: Title: Speak Up The Conservative Speak Up: Why a social media ban for young Australians will do more harm than…
Title: Speak Up
The Conservative
Speak Up: Why a social media ban for young Australians will do more harm than good
8th of October, 2025
By Timam Abazovic
Over the past months, many debates have been circulating surrounding the issue of social media and whether children aged sixteen and under should be banned. With many trying to speak up against this injustice, Anthony Albanese and the Australian Government have ultimately decided that this ban will go forward and commence on the 10th of December 2025. He and others believe that social media is to blame for teenagers’ mental health struggles, suggesting that banning them from these platforms will preserve their mental health and wellbeing as they will not be at the centre of cyberbullying, harmful content and online predators. What a disgrace! No wonder why there has been mass criticism online by Gen-Z groups. Even if we are powerless in preventing this injustice, we must speak up and not possibly accept what the government is doing. If we want to make the world a better place, we have to speak up.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: title: power
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: Scene: A bench in a park, surrounded by birds. These longtime friends have met to catch up, and their…
Scene: A bench in a park, surrounded by birds. These longtime friends have met to catch up, and their conversation has transitioned into contemplating the things that matter most in life
***
Jeremy [J]: Did you see the recent Banksy mural near the Royal Court of Justice in London?
Immanuel [I]: No....Who did he annoy this time?
[J]: The law. Again. He graffitied a judge brutally attacking an unarmed protester with a gavel, I think, in response to all the government crackdowns on protests in the UK. It was rumored they wanted to arrest him for vandalism.
[I]: Even if it's a form of protest, it's illegal.
[J] : But doesn’t that feel absurd? The law - the very thing that should protect us - ends up silencing us. Power defends itself, not always justice. It’s wild that the people trying to expose corruption get punished, while those who abuse power get protected.
[I]: what's the point of the law if we break it. Then, there's no point of having laws to begin with
[J]: I'm not saying to abolish all laws. That's stupid! But, laws are not meant to weaken their own people when its sustaining an injustice. When these laws linger, I feel like we have every right to break the law and protest these kind of issues
[I]: I think your idea of protest is inaccurate.
[J]: Really?
[I]: Yeah. You can still protest without breaking the law. You can still challenge power without destroying it.
[J]: Well, how do you think of protest?
[I]: To me, protest is about demanding change from the status quo — things like authorized demonstrations, speeches, marches, petitions. It's a collective "no" to injustice. It doesn't have to be rebellion for rebellion’s sake. You can make noise without burning the whole house down.
[J]: Protest is exactly that, but protest can also be UN-authorized demonstrations. You wouldn’t tell Rosa Parks she was wrong to sit at the front of the bus when you know Jim Crow's laws were absurd, would you?
[I]: That's fair, but I think there should be limitations though. There has to be a line. . If you start saying any protest is justified, where does it end? Murder? Destruction?
[J]: But sometimes power refuses to listen. If we never push back, if we never challenge it directly, power never shifts. But like you agree that there are times where we have to break the law to give more balance to us, the people?
[I]: Well, there’s something called 'civil disobedience' that deals with that. It’s protest that's moral, principled, and aware of its risks. It describes situations where people break the law to protest - and Rosa Parks fits that perfectly.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Space to Belong
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: Imagine a land where the oldest continous culture were shared amongst the vibrant communities of our land. A…
Imagine a land where the oldest continous culture were shared amongst the vibrant communities of our land. A land that has space to belong. Australia, a country filled with promise of freedom and opportunity. A golden ticket in fullfilling an ambitious life. Australia a country filled with beauty, rich, and rare. The gum trees leaves that sway with the gust of wind and the oceans as blue as our clearest sky. A country promised with equality and the acceptance of all diversity. A country that represent and accepts all. I soon yet to realise that promises are meant to be broken.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Resist and Persist Stimulus: If…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Nia The morning air clung to Nia's skin - thick, smoky and alive. She adjusted the mask on her daughter's…
Nia
The morning air clung to Nia's skin - thick, smoky and alive. She adjusted the mask on her daughter's face, the soft pink one patterned with flowers. Sky always rebelled, wearing the mask upside down, a small gesture that made Nia smile despite her stomach tightening. The gesture steadied her hands. The mask she realised, was more than protection. It was the small space between fear and hope, between was what has been hidden and what was still dared to be seen through collective persistence.
Around them, the city pulsed. Drums echoed down the street, and a thousand breaths rose into the same heavy sky. Nia had been to many protests before, but this one carried more weight. Not louder, not larger, just weighted against years of oppression. It was as if history itself was pressing down on the air. Each chant carried persistance, something ancient and aching.
Say their names.
The words throbbed through her chest like a heartbeat. Although, Nia was not going to fall back into line, being swallowed by the crowd. She was going to stand up, with her breath short beneath her mask.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Category: Protest Title: 'Resist and…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Resist and Persist Dear Professor, I enjoyed our first class today. I think we all did. The quiet boys - they…
Resist and Persist
Dear Professor,
I enjoyed our first class today. I think we all did. The quiet boys - they were not as quiet as normal. I think you brought their personality out a little bit. I think we have been taught to follow what the books say instead of using them to form our own opinions, today's class made me feel like we were actually learning, developing our own thoughts. It made me excited for the future of this class - school might not be as bad now.
Jason.
Dear professor,
I think it's safe to say you are inspiring. Those quiet boys signed up for the debating team today, it shocked the rest of us. In the week since you started, its doubled in size - before I knew it, I had signed up too, my name etched on the now fuller than before list of avid speakers. I feel a sense of hope, as you said I would, for the time we get after class - it feels like we have more freedom now. The hobbies, passions, stories don't feel as pointless anymore, I think the freedom comes from them.
Jason.
Dear Professor,
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: title: engage stimulus: 'get up. stand…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Today, we gather here to protest not just a number on a payslip, but a system. A system that, for generations,…
Today, we gather here to protest not just a number on a payslip, but a system. A system that, for generations, has assigned women lesser economic value, not because of what they do — but because of who they are.
As you know, the gender pay gap in Australia stands at 13.0%. On average, women earn $253.50 less per week than men for full-time work. But this isn’t just a modern imbalance.
It’s the result of a long, layered history a legacy that stretches back over a century!
Let’s be clear: the gender pay gap isn’t just a statistical anomaly. It’s the product of engaging deeply entrenched historical, cultural, and economic systems of oppression towards women.
Typically, we view engagement as a positive thing. We want to engage with others, engage in fulfilling activities, engage with communities, et cetera. But when society turns the positive act of engagement into darker channels such as systematic sexism and misogyny, that’s when us as women need to enforce drastic and forceful change. We need to disrupt these systems for things to change. We need to get engaged in destroying these corrupt systems.
Women entered the workforce in large numbers during the World Wars but when men returned, women were pushed back into the home or into “support roles” with lower pay. In fact, it wasn’t until 1969 that Australia legally recognised the principle of “equal pay for equal work”, and even then, loopholes and biases kept that promise hollow. The idea that men were
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Category: Protest Title: 'Resist and…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 62.5%: Resist and Persist Dear Professor, I enjoyed our first class today. I think we all did. The quiet boys - they…
Resist and Persist
Dear Professor,
I enjoyed our first class today. I think we all did. The quiet boys - they were not as quiet as normal. I think you brought their personality out a little bit. I think we have been taught to follow what the books say instead of using them to form our own opinions, todays class made me feel like we were actually learning, developing our own thoughts. It made me excited for the future of this class - school might not be as bad now.
Jason.
Dear professor,
I think it's safe to say you are inspiring. Those quiet boys signed up for the debating team today, it shocked the rest of us. In the week since you started, its doubled in size - before I knew it, I had signed up too, my name etched on the now fuller than before list of avid speakers. I feel a sense of hope, as you said I would, for the time we get after class - it feels like we have more freedom now. The hobbies, passions, stories don't feel as pointless anymore, I think the freedom comes from them.
Jason.
Dear Professor,
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Good evening everyone, teachers, families, and the class of 2025. As we take this day to celebrate the…
Good evening everyone, teachers, families, and the class of 2025.
As we take this day to celebrate the overarching achievements of my fellow graduates, I want to take a step back. 5 years ago was the start of something new and exciting. A new year with new opportunities became a place I could learn and be involved with a population of people that I can now proudly call my family. At the start of high school, we were handed a spark. Small, yet there was room for growth into a larger flame.
I want to reflect on the small light we had started out with and how the class of 2025 will carry a new level of brightness towards our future. It was not only our perseverance that got us through, but the unique way we were able to handle change, hand in hand. We had fought and lived through moments beyond academics, pushing through exhausting camps where our muscles ached and lungs burned, competitive sports events that tested not only our bodies, but our spirit. Challenges like these felt foreign, yet forged us into something stronger. So, let me commend the battles that have brought us to where we stand today. A limelight to the courageous efforts we have put throughout these incredible 5 years.
At the start of it all, I was afraid to be open. Friendships were kept sacred and I found myself struggling to speak up. However, these feelings were only private to me. Struggles were not only my own problem, instead, we all faced something that was kept hidden. An invisible weight we carried silently, like stones in our pockets that grew heavier with each passing day of isolation. It was unspeakable yet it built us up along the way. Paving our way through online learning and checking up in simple text message was our way of life. As months skipped by like pages being torn from a calendar, I saw the way time had sculpted our faces. In a flicker of a flame, who knew that 2 years could change so much about a person. Yet, being able to see us all here today, taller, smarter, wiser, it’s incomprehensible about how much we’ve grown. We are more than we realise, forged by the impossible circumstances we faced in 2020. The solid ground we were supposed to have was rocky and imbalanced. Our lives changed from that moment moving forward and I don’t think I would change that for the world. For the peers that I wish I had known sooner, I don’t blame us. The world changed and we had to adapt. These challenges would become the least of our worries, and I’m grateful for where we find ourselves now.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: change brings opportunity
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 62.5%: I wear my father’s anger like an ill-fitting hand-me-down. My mother hates how it looks on me — but I don’t…
I wear my father’s anger like an ill-fitting hand-me-down. My mother hates how it looks on me — but I don’t mind it. I find a certain solace and comfort in the hand-me-down. I don’t mind the loose threads, the old fabric, or the faded navy that looks grey now. I also don’t mind how it’s about seven sizes too big for me — it’s a man’s jumper after all. It drapes over my small, fragile frame, weighing me down. It’s almost comical, the way it fits. I hope one day I grow into it, so I can look like him. But I know my mother hopes I don’t. I know this by the way her eyes glaze over when she sees me in the jumper, and her quickness and urgency when she says I’ll catch cold. She offers me a different one from her wardrobe — but I like my hand-me-down jumper.