VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Protest piece
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The Grand Auction of Democracy Welcome fellow citizens! (should I establish a broad/specific target audience in…
The Grand Auction of Democracy
Welcome fellow citizens!
(should I establish a broad/specific target audience in the beginning?)
Welcome to the grand auction, where democracy itself is up for sale. Once a priceless treasure, built on the voices of people, it now will belong to the highest bidder. Make no mistake – this auction is neither for you or me, the common people. No, it is reserved for the oligarchs, the corporate giants, the political puppeteers, changing the governance of a nation into a business and our freedoms into bargaining chips.
Who wants the power to shape a nation, to rewrite laws, to decide the fate of millions? Corporations, raises their paddles – 500 million to write their own regulations. Do I hear more?
No surprises to now see Wall street chiming in – One billion to make sure economic policies make the rich richer, and we the working class poorer.
But wait! Another bid! Media conglomerates step in – 5 billion to control the narrative, to erode our critical thinking and replace it with blind obedience. Billionaires follow – ten billion to manufacture outrage, to fan the flames of division, to drown out real dissent with an endless cycle of conflict and reaction. Under the guise of free speech, they amplify the loudest most destructive voices, whilst silencing those who dare challenge their power.
Going once! Going twice! Sold!
But surely the most sacred part of Democracy is the people’s voice? As everybody knows a true democracy is where the voice of the people is heard. So who’s bidding? The working class? The students? The struggling families? Silence – Oh, what’s that? You can’t afford to bid? Your wages too low, your rent too high, your healthcare too expensive. Sorry folks, if you can’t pay, you can’t play. Next item!
The reality is that democracy is being bought and sold to the highest bidders. But Isn’t democracy meant to empower everyone, not just those who can afford it?
Democracy is founded on the ideas that the citizens of a country should take an active role in the government of their country. And a key pillar of democracy is that the people have a voice. If money decides who gets elected, who gets heard and who controls the conversation, then what remains of the people’s voice?
This is not democracy, it is oligarchy – power concentrated in the hands of the few, but at the expense of the many. This system thrives on silence, on obedience, on apathy.
But what is the biggest threat to oligarchies? Noise disruption and a passionate refusal to suppress our unhappiness. Let them know our discontent towards their corruption. Let them know that we will speak. Let them know we will protest.
Protesting is not just an act of disobedience; it is an act of democracy itself. It is the mechanism that allows the silenced to reclaim their voices on the street, the disenfranchised to assert their presence in public debate and the powerless reminding the powerful that they cannot govern without their
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Speak up, the time is now
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The sun sinks behind the New York horizon, casting fire and gold across the streets filled with defiant voices.…
The sun sinks behind the New York horizon, casting fire and gold across the streets filled with defiant voices. The city pulses—not with routine, but with revolution. A sea of signs sways like a restless forest—echoing truths inked in cardboard: “Black Lives Matter,” “No Justice, No Peace,” “Speak Up, The Time is Now”—each a demand for justice, each a plea for change. The energy surges through the crowd, from children perched on their parents’ shoulders to elders who have carried the weight of this fight for generations. The air hums with emotion. Chants rise, fists clench, and history presses forward. Justice cannot wait. Stand now—before silence takes over. A powerful blend of distant chants, wailing sirens, and the rhythmic echo of hands raised in solidarity.
From the stage, microphone trembling in hand, I feel the breath of thousands pushing me forward. This is not just a protest—this is a reckoning. It is a declaration that silence is complicity, that inaction is a betrayal. In this moment, I realise that speaking out is not just an act of defiance—it is a vow to fight. My voice, joined with theirs, becomes a force for change—a refusal to stand idle while injustice takes breath after breath. For George Floyd. For Breonna Taylor. For all those whose names became a movement, but should have been a future.
To every person who chose to march today instead of staying comfortable: I thank you for being here. For showing up. For standing against injustice.
Look around. This is not just a protest—it is a reckoning. A breaking point where centuries of oppression can no longer be ignored. A moment where the weight of injustice threatens to crush us if we do not rise. But this is also something greater. This is the unstoppable force of change.
We gather on these streets where pain collides with unyielding hope. We do not stand here out of anger, though it burns within us. We do not rise from bitterness, though the world has given us every reason. We are not broken, though injustice has tried to break us. We stand because we believe. We believe in a world where justice is not a privilege, not a gift—but a birthright, sacred and undeniable.
Our message is simple, but its power is boundless: Black lives matter. Not conditionally. Not hypothetically. Always.
Black lives
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: in oedipus the king, all those who…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: In Oedipus the King, all those who deserve it are justly punished Do you agree? Fifth century Athens exposed…
In Oedipus the King, all those who deserve it are justly punished
Do you agree?
Fifth century Athens exposed the traditional values and views that those who disobey the Gods, will as a result be punished accordingly. However in Sophocles tragic play, Oedipus the King, both ancient and contemporary audiences are left conflicted on whether individuals deserve the punishments they recieve. Those who have a lack in respect to the Gods are ultimately punished by them through the fulfillment of their fate. Additionally, those who act with blindness, are later punished through their sight, following their ignorance. However, some individuals are punished due to their character flaws which is not deemed a fair penalization.
Sophocles exposes how those who act in disrespect of the Gods values, are therefore punished by them through the achievement of their tragic fate. Despite the Gods having no stage presence throughout the play, a "stone alter" "stands at the centre of the stage" which Sophocles uses to foreshadow how the Gods are central to Athenian life. Despite this, Jocasta rejects the authority of the Gods and prophecys, as she urges Oedipus to "count (himself) free of every charge" in relation to the prophecys. Her blasphemous views that the Gods are "nothing" and "worthless" is contrasted with the revelation of her fate and suicide, reflecting how nihilism can lead to despair that is no longer bearable for individuals. This anagnorisis reflects the importance of following the Gods in daily life, which condemns the rise in humanism at the time, reflected through Jocasta's beliefs that "it's all chance, chance rules our lives", which she is rightfully attached for. Additionally, Sophocles examines the tension between divine power and human intellect, through Oedipus who is immediately
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Forgotten Yet Furious Stimulus:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: The mother - Nia Nia adjusted the mask on her daughter Sky's face, pulling the strings behind her ears. It…
The mother - Nia
Nia adjusted the mask on her daughter Sky's face, pulling the strings behind her ears. It was pointless, Sky was continuing to refuse and take it off, but the gesture provided a sense of calmness to Nia. They were marching again today, but this one felt different. Not bigger, just heavier. Nia was bringing her daughter along this time. George, Breonna, Treyvon. All the names of coloured people in America who have been a tragic victim of police brutality and stereotyping. Their names? Wiped from the headlines, forgotten. Nia felt ignited by this ignorance, wanting to remember their names even if it is on a crusty piece of cardboard written from cheap textas from the supermarket. That’s what Nia did with her mother anyway, attending protests and feeling the importance of being in a crowd of people, all fighting those who they thought deserved it. That's what Nia wanted to do with Sky. There they were, in the downtown streets of the city, engulfed in a sea of furious people. Sky was at her mother's feet, Nia looking down at the sign that was significantly bigger than Sky's head, sticky from the apple juice that was spilt that morning. The sign read, "My life matters". Nia felt a dryness in her throat. Not from anger, nor from rage. Yet, from pride, where she had forgotten the importance of being a black mother in this day and age. As Nia and Sky were pushed around in the crowd like pinballs, they approached the wall of police officers, all dressed in black armour and not moving a muscle. Nia felt her daughter hanging onto her hand, although the urgency and fear of the grip instilled a thought in her head. Maybe she is hanging onto more than her hand, a memory perhaps. Whilst drifting off in thought, Nia felt Sky let go of her hand and rush toward the opposition crowd. Although, Sky didn't look fearful, approaching a police officer, yet looking hopeful. Sky slowly raised her sign to the man behind the armour, completely freezing Nia, and the police officer slowly raised his fist. Nia had a moment of realisation, "do these cops deserve it, or have I been completely lost in my fury?".
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: Protest Title: Demand Progress
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Demand Progress A university speech on the Unfinished Fight for Marginalised women of Afghanistan I’ve been…
Demand Progress
A university speech on the Unfinished Fight for Marginalised women of Afghanistan
I’ve been exposed to two different realities: one included a place where my voice, rights and freedom was all taken away from me for simply being a woman, and another where these very things that makes me a human, granted to me and even encouraged. I know what it means to be silenced. I know what it feels like to have everything taken away from you in a matter of days and I know what it feels like to have your mother whisper to you ‘Learn’ so that I do not end up like her. The women in my life only knew silence, oppression and corruption. I am determined to break that cycle.
Moving to Australia, I’ll admit, it’s a great country. I have the ability to get to school safely, get a degree and even a job to help support myself. No man getting in my way to stop this lifelong fulfillment. It truly feels like a dream come true.
“Those who don’t live here are missing out big time” I once said ... except that is when I realised that I could’ve been one of those people. You could have also been one of ‘those people’. Yes, you!
Now, I didn’t come to this university, presenting Infront of you all to scare you away. I am here because I have notice something unsettling. As girls, we forget how privileged we are sometimes. You’re all here listening to another woman [me] giving a speech in this prestigious university that you all worked hard for to get in... and best of all, no man has stopped you from reaching this goal. Now imagine the roles reversed. What if you were an Afghan girl? I don’t want you simply to picture it, I want you to understand that you can end the conditions that keep those girls trapped.
However, it's unfortunate to see that we are no where near that progress. Now, it’s always #fight4womenrights but this only apply for the women in the West. When it comes to the situation in Afghanistan and maybe even in other countries, those same hashtags fall silent. A fight that’s apparently not worth advocating for. This level of hypocrisy astounds me. Women's rights, once a fierce battle cry, had faded into a mere talking point, a box to tick on the list of 'progressive' values. Protest, once the force behind real change, had been reduced to hashtags and empty symbolism, while the true fight for justice burned quietly in the shadows, unnoticed and ignored. Each achievement is masquerade as change but are we changing? Call it what you want, I call it 'Illusion of progress'.
A part of me is still that young girl from Kabul. It has never left
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: Protest Title: Demand Progress
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Demand Progress A university speech on the Unfinished Fight for Marginalised women of Afghanistan I’ve been…
Demand Progress
A university speech on the Unfinished Fight for Marginalised women of Afghanistan
I’ve been exposed to two different realities: one included a place where my voice, rights and freedom was all taken away from me for simply being a woman, and another where these very things that makes me a human, granted to me and even encouraged. I know what it means to be silenced. I know what it feels like to have everything taken away from you in a matter of days and I know what it feels like to have your mother whisper to you ‘Learn’ so that I do not end up like her. The women in my life only knew silence, oppression and corruption. I am determined to break that cycle.
Moving to Australia, I’ll admit, it’s a great country. You know, I get to go to school, get a degree and even a job to help support myself. “Those who don’t live here are missing out big time” I once said ... except that is when I realised that I could’ve been one of those people. You could have also been one of ‘those people’. Yes, you!
Now, I didn’t come to this university, presenting Infront of you all to scare you away. I am here because I have notice something unsettling. As girls, we forget how privileged we are sometimes. You’re all here listening to another woman [me] giving a speech in this prestigious university that you all worked hard for to get in... and best of all, no man has stopped you from reaching this goal. Now imagine the roles reversed. What if you were an Afghan girl? I don’t want you simply to picture it, I want you to understand that you can end the conditions that keep those girls trapped.
Unfortunately, now it’s always #fight4womenrights but this only apply for the women in the West. When it comes to the situation in Afghanistan and maybe even in other countries, those same hashtags fall silent. A fight that’s apparently not worth advocating for. This level of hypocrisy astounds me. Women's rights, once a fierce battle cry, had faded into a mere talking point, a box to tick on the list of 'progressive' values. Protest, once the force behind real change, had been reduced to hashtags and empty symbolism, while the true fight for justice burned quietly in the shadows, unnoticed and ignored. Each achievement is masquerade as change but are we changing? Call it what you want, I call it 'Illusion of progress'.
Apart of me is still that young girl from Kabul. It has
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Construct an argument analysis piece…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Initially assuming a moderate and intimate persona to reinforce the personal connection with podcast…
Initially assuming a moderate and intimate persona to reinforce the personal connection with podcast listeners, Tanley emphasises the intrinsic value which the wetlands provide; for both herself and the wider community who may not as readily recognise its benefits. In doing so, she aims to portray herself as genuine for prioritising the concerns of the Hapsey locals, thus reinforcing her future attacks against the Adventure+Nature group. Her warmth is immediately felt in her opening, particularly in stating the obvious that she is indeed “[our] host, Janelle Tanley”. The possessive determiner “your” is especially important in reinforcing her sense of commitment to the Hapsey residents, whilst simultaneously imbuing her podcast with a subtly casual and personal atmosphere only possible through her familiarity to the region. Tanley’s attachment of mystical and healing
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Protest as unifying
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: The streets pulsating with energy. The once busy roads of Melbourne where cars would blaze past unknowing…
The streets pulsating with energy. The once busy roads of Melbourne where cars would blaze past unknowing citizens, was now filled with protesters marching along together with signs held up high. Hundreds, maybe even thousands marched along Bourke street, the sounds of drums booming with them accompanied with voices rising in unison for the fight against complete injustice within this country. I was within that very crowd, standing among them, heart racing. Feeling the weight of generations of history pressing down on me, as well as giving me that extra boost to push me forward.
Today was not a celebration, it wasn’t as bright as the other protests that would usually light up the streets in colour and light. Today the colour came from our rebellion. From our unity. From the shared belief that we have had enough of the racist treatment that has been polluting the country. Though the weather was bound to show rain, no one cared because there was a greater cause that was being fought for. There was this feeling in the air in a sense that was stronger than fear, louder than anger, it was unity. In the ground you could truly feel it. The march of a thousand people all in unity shook the Earth, feelings of the rumbling could surely be felt all across the city of Melbourne.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Have you ever chased something, believing it would bring joy, only to find yourself holding nothing but air?…
Have you ever chased something, believing it would bring joy, only to find yourself holding nothing but air? Have you ever reached toward a dream, only to feel it dissolve like smoke in your hands?
For years, I did. I ran after the noise—the pulse of bass-heavy music thudding in my chest, the chatter that spilled like a constant waterfall, the laughter that promised belonging. At parties, the air clung to me: a mix of smoke, sugar, and perfume. I grinned until my cheeks stiffened, laughed until my stomach cramped, spoke words that tasted foreign on my tongue. It was dazzling, yes, but beneath the strobe of light and sound, there was a silence that cut deeper than any song.
If you’ve ever known that silence, that gnawing ache of hollowness, let me assure you: it doesn’t have to be your ending.
We are creatures of longing. Some try to satisfy it with love, others with recognition, money, or control. I tried to feed it with approval—collecting it like coins—and with rebellion, as if defiance could anchor me. But the harder I grasped, the sharper the hunger grew, like a wound that refused to close.
That is why Jesus came. He saw our fractured selves, our relentless striving, and carried the burden we could never lift. When I stopped running, I realised He had been there all along, waiting.
From the outside, my life seemed anchored. A Christian household meant rhythms: morning prayers, evening devotions, verses whispered before bed. It looked as though I had roots. But storms expose what is buried. When temptation struck, I toppled quickly, not rooted in faith but in appearances.
I was living two lives. On Sundays, I stood in church, palms raised, lips mouthing rehearsed devotion. On weekdays, I was a different person entirely—tongue sharpened, words crude, humour laced with desperation to belong. I wore masks so often that I forgot the contours of my true face.
One memory in particular captured this fracture. On a Sunday morning, the choir’s voices rose around me—harmonies stitched together like gold thread. I clapped, smiled, nodded along. But in my mind, Saturday night replayed itself: the offhanded jokes, the echo of laughter that wasn’t joy but noise. For a heartbeat, the two worlds collided—the hymn and the hollowness—and I felt the crushing weight of my own duplicity.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Have you ever chased something, believing it would bring joy, only to discover that your hands closed around…
Have you ever chased something, believing it would bring joy, only to discover that your hands closed around nothing but air? Have you ever stretched toward a dream, only to feel it dissolve like mist between your fingers?
For a long time, I did. I ran after the laughter, the pulse of bass-heavy music rattling the walls, the endless chatter that seemed to promise belonging. At parties, the air smelled of smoke and sugar, a haze of perfume and sweat. I smiled until my cheeks ached, laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, and nodded along with stories that made me feel hollow. It was intoxicating, yes—but in the quiet moments afterward, the noise dissolved, and all that was left was silence. A silence so sharp it pressed into me like a blade.
If anyone here knows that silence, that ache of emptiness, hear me: the void does not have to be your final chapter.
We all carry a hunger that nothing in this world can satisfy. Some try to feed it with love, others with recognition, money, or success. I tried filling mine with approval and rebellion—clothes that didn’t feel like me, words that weren’t mine, friendships that demanded more masks than I could wear. The harder I tried, the emptier I became.
That is why Jesus came. He saw our striving, our brokenness, our desperate attempts to build meaning out of dust. He stepped down, walked among us, and carried the very weight we could not bear. And when I finally stopped running, I found Him waiting.
From the outside, my life looked solid enough. A Christian household meant routines: morning prayers, evening devotions, and verses read before bed. To relatives and neighbours, it seemed I had deep roots. But storms expose the truth. When temptation struck, I crumbled. I was not rooted in faith, but in appearances.
I lived two lives. On Sundays, I stood in church, hands raised, voice lifted, eyes closed in rehearsed devotion. On weekdays, I was someone else entirely—sharp-tongued, restless, searching for attention through language I knew was wrong. At school, I became the joker, tossing crude lines to win a laugh. The applause of my peers felt like a prize; the nod of my parents felt like another performance.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journey
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Have you ever chased something, believing it would make you happy, only to find yourself empty? Have you ever…
Have you ever chased something, believing it would make you happy, only to find yourself empty? Have you ever stretched out your hands toward a dream, only to grasp at the wind?
I once followed the laughter, the jokes, the loud music, thinking they would bring me joy. I searched and I searched—only to realize I was running in circles, chasing an illusion.
If there’s anyone here today who feels the way I once did, I urge you—breathe, breathe in the air. Listen and reflect, because I stand before you as living proof that emptiness doesn’t have to be the final chapter.
We all carry a void inside us, a hunger we cannot satisfy on our own. Whether it’s love, acceptance, money, or purpose—we are all in need of something. But no matter how much we grasp at the temporary, we remain unfulfilled. That is why Jesus came.
He saw our longing. He saw the brokenness. And so, He humbled Himself, leaving heaven to walk among us, to carry the weight of our sins. And because of Him, my story changed.
I grew up in a Christian home—the morning prayers, the evening devotions, the Bible reading before bed. From the outside, it looked like I had deep roots. But when the storms came, I was the first to fall. I lived two lives: one in church, where I raised my hands during altar calls, and another at school, where my tongue was untamed—swearing, joking, seeking validation. I was constantly switching masks, playing a role that wasn’t truly me.
Yet deep down, in the quiet moments, when I lay awake at night staring at the ceiling, I felt it. The weight of my choices, the hollowness of it all. I was exhausted—our life's story lays in the back of our minds, as a tale that haunts us, lifts us, and keeps us moving. And that night, my story haunted me.
Tears streamed down my face, warm and relentless. Each drop felt like a piece of my heart breaking. I cried and I cried, until my body ached, until my eyes burned red. In that moment, I was done. I was tired of pretending, tired of searching, tired of the endless cycle of chasing after things that never filled me. I was desperate for something real.
I cried out that day. Crying in desperation. Crying in need. In need of a rain check. In
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: My Story, My Way “I want to play the piano.” Why do the very same words, said by the same person, but at…
My Story, My Way
“I want to play the piano.”
Why do the very same words, said by the same person, but at different points in life, receive entirely contrasting reactions?
My first piano lesson was when I was six. As all kids did, all I wanted to do was to play with my friends or watch my favourite TV show, and so naturally, being forced to sit down and learn to press random keys on a fancy piano did not seem like the most interesting thing to do. One time, I hated it so much that I remember throwing the biggest tantrum I had ever thrown, begging my mother to cancel piano classes. None of my tantrums ever worked with my mother, who was always telling me, “You’ll be thanking me for this in the future.” And she was right, although not in the way she had hoped.
After so many lessons, torture became comfort. Fingers that were stiff and awkward became quick and nimble. Music notes that were foreign and unreadable became a language that my soul could read. Every musical piece felt like it was telling me a different story, and before I knew it, I found myself yearning for the piano. And that was the first time I told my mother, “I want to play the piano.” Needless to say, she was happy to know that I had a hobby that she decided was valuable and worthy. But that was when it was simply a hobby.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Order and Disorder (framwork: play)
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Rules create order and structure in our world, however sometimes breaking them and in turn creating disorder…
Rules create order and structure in our world, however sometimes breaking them and in turn creating disorder can be necessary for growth and development. Fostering disorder in our lives helps to create an unexpected order while colouring outside the lines and working outside societies expectations can set us free, allowing everyone to develop to their best potential. Isn’t that what we all strive for., to be the best version of ourselves?
When we work outside the rules, we allow our creativity to flourish, unburdened by the problems face din everyday society. For instance, children playing games are able to imagine floating through space, exploring new and different planets, with no gravity and therefore, no restrictions, however with rules children are grounded, unable to come up with new scenarios, unable to escape form a world that is trapping them, unable to have a true sense of freedom that is associated with imaginative play, breaking old rules and creating new ones, allows children to grow into people who aren’t afraid to work outside the boundaries. To develop into something great and become what their heart truly desires,
This is innately interworked throughout our society, the musicians and artists of our world, those who bring us joy and comfort are unburdened by rules, able to step outside of the lines and create new things. Vincent van Gogh, one of the most celebrated artists of all time, was allowed to paint outside the lines, not create flowing scenes, but instead express himself unafraid of the rules, This innovation stems from childhood, not always being forced into a box, but being allowed outside of one. This knowledge that breaking the rules is okay, that both order and disorder can be equally important is what separates these artists from society, it is what allows them to create new things, inspire millions and truly express themselves, becoming advocacy for embracing disorder, in order to find order.
Changing, breaking and developing new rules allows for the development of problem-solving skills. These skills developed in early childhood can help to set a child up for the future, fostering adaptability and empathy for others. Enabling a child to keep an open mind to both their new ideas and others. They are our future, children will be working jobs in the future, we don’t want closed off children, we want unafraid children, allowed to speak their mind and do everything to the best of their ability.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: What if we tried something new"…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Who are we if not performers? And what is living if not performing? Would you squeal at spiders if no one was…
Who are we if not performers?
And what is living if not performing?
Would you squeal at spiders if no one was watching?
Would you smile just for yourself?
We perform joy, fear, ambition, and restraint. We rehearse our dreams, improvise our failures, and revise our identities. Life is not just a stage—it’s a rehearsal room, a costume closet, a script still being written. But what if we tried something new? What if, instead of following the script, we scribbled in the margins, rewrote the ending, or tossed the whole thing out?
The biggest stage we’ll ever stand on is our own life. From the moment we arrive, we’re cast into roles we didn’t audition for. These roles are not random; they are assigned by a social order that benefits from our compliance. We eat and grow so our parents feel fulfilled. We study and work to contribute to society. We love and sacrifice so others don’t have to. We perform not just for applause, but for approval, for belonging, for survival.
And yet, there are moments—rare and fleeting—when the mask slips. When we step out of the costume stitched by expectation and into something raw, unfiltered. These moments feel like freedom, like a new version of ourselves. But are they? Or are they just another act, one we’ve convinced ourselves is authentic?
As children, play was instinctive. We didn’t perform for anyone—we simply existed in joy. A cardboard box became a spaceship. A puddle became an ocean. Raindrops weren’t acid—they were racers, sprinting to the ground.
The world was magical because we hadn’t yet been taught to explain it. But knowledge came, and with it, complexity. When did living become so rehearsed? We learned the rules of the stage, taught by a society that values predictable plots over improvised joy. We learned to smile on cue.
But when the play began, we made the rules, we own the stage. We didn’t ask permission to imagine—we just did.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: framework of play
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Dear parents and carers, Do you have a young one at home who urgently wants to get outside and run around…
Dear parents and carers,
Do you have a young one at home who urgently wants to get outside and run around whilst kicking the footy? If so, you're in luck! We all know that our kids keep constantly nagging us about taking them to the park and playing kick to kick whilst playing the sport that we all love here in Australia. Here at Bay Side Goal Kickers, we provide and support fun activities and games for children aged 10 and under who are starting off wanting to play AFL. All year round, every Sunday morning from 10-12 AM, Bay Side Goal Kickers has sessions for your children to have some fun, make new friends and most importantly become confident in their Aussie Rules skills! Bay side Goal kickers main focus and goal is to ensure that your child looks forward to spending playtime with us and acquiring lifetime skills.
We acknowledge that children need as much freedom as they can at such young ages, so why not make this happen? Bay Side Goal Kickers understands that children starting to play sports may be both nervous for the kids and especially you, the parents! With that in mind, we encourage you to stay and watch the sessions we provide to see that your children are having a blast! From previous experiences and surveys, our team has noticed that children within school hours do not get enough exercise and playtime. We provide this extra curriculum for those wanting to exercise more whilst improving their footy skills. Here’s how we run our sessions at Bay Side Goal Kickers.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Time to move on
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Time to Move On Life is full of changes. Changes, sometimes inevitable, are bound to change our lives…
Time to Move On
Life is full of changes. Changes, sometimes inevitable, are bound to change our lives forever. Changing always comes with some sort of resistance, perhaps a fear of what's to come, or a fear of the instability of the new environment. Nevertheless, change is a core part of all of our lives, essential to build the future and who we are as people. It may be that embracing change, flipping that page, may be fruitful in ways we could never have imagined.
Contrary to common belief, I loved school growing up. From years 4-9, there was nothing more pleasurable than a day at school, surrounded by my friends, creating endless memories that would last a lifetime. From playing lunchtime basketball with friends, to sitting at the principal's office, bound to life despite the trouble we were in. As long as we were there together. I remember waking up each morning extra early to get dropped off early, only to extend the time I was able to be at school each day, making sure I had my ball so me and my friends could exhaust ourselves when we were playing before the day even started. Through the laughs and tears, the friends made were the sole purpose of looking forward to my day. An escape from my life outside school, I could find peace and serenity at school. Let my mind run wild, free of all worries and troubles.
School camp was the one event I’d look forward to each year. Certain to find ourselves in trouble, whether it was sneaking out of our cabins at night to stargaze, or the occasional ding-dong ditch, the harmless fun we had went a long way. I distinctly remember at year 9 camp, as if it were animated in my mind, the one night me and my friends snuck a canoe out into the lake, laying down for hours, complete silence whilst watching the sun, being in each other's presence being enough fulfillment.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Section B – Creating a Text Framework…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 70%: Good morning ladies and gentlemen I am here with the rural association of Australia to talk about river and…
Good morning ladies and gentlemen I am here with the rural association of Australia to talk about river and waterway conservation and rehabilitation. Us farmers need to start this right away.
I am a 4th generational farmer which the same land has been in it the whole time shaping me to who I am and shaping my family. This farm is my lifeline, my passion and my future. The farm I call home is based on two hills, one hill scattered in blue stone that from afar looks like little dots of snow on a sunny day. On the other hill on windy summer days look like golden waves through the paddocks and in the middle is a creek splitting the middle of the farm. This land has shaped itself and myself to what it is today.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Together Through Story
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: You ever find yourself staring at something so ordinary it suddenly starts to change shape before your eyes?…
You ever find yourself staring at something so ordinary it suddenly starts to change shape before your eyes? For me, it was the gum ash tree outside my window. During COVID, I couldn’t help but watch it. You probably had your own version of it — something so familiar it became strange when you spent too much time looking. Sometimes, when it filled with birdsong, my mood lightened. But at dusk or dawn, the branches would twist into peculiar shapes, eerie and foreboding. Its scraggly, twisted form carried a strange charm, and depending on the light, new shapes emerged: masks, shadows, and limbs. Depending on the storm or season, there was always a different story hanging from its branches. It made the whole house drip in colour when autumn swung around. It wasn’t plain brown bricks anymore it was red and orange hues that hid the balding lawn. At times, a branch hung so loosely it looked like it might snap in the next gust of wind. And that’s when I thought of myself — someone who never quite fit in at the start of secondary school, shuffled from group to group, my identity dangling by a thread.
Funny thing is that the tree always changed depending on when you looked at it — dawn, dusk, storm, or sunshine. That’s what struck me most during those silent months: how easily a story can shift, depending on the angle, depending on the mood. Maybe you’ve felt that too — that your life looks one way in the morning and entirely different by nightfall.
Primary school was the last time I truly enjoyed school. The friends, the fun, the frisk of it all was something I looked forward to everyday. Now it’s just myself. Everyone I knew flocked away to their different schools. I would stand at the front gate with one thought, what do I do today? Yes, I knew I had to learn in class and be punctual, but what about socially? I’ve been a chameleon blending into every group. Some accepted me, most didn’t, but I never truly cared as I finally felt some sense of belonging. It was like navigating a maze, every action has a different and equal reaction. Finally, I can live a day while using Newton’s laws of motion in real life. I often got stares from being the weird antisocial nerd who took part in peculiar interests. I never understood why people took so much time out of their day just to make fun of others. One day they stared. The next they pushed me into a wall. I had enough of the bullying. So, I tried to change. I removed the weirdness from my life. The things I loved to do but others didn’t. The way I spoke, the people I wanted to be around. I would walk back from home every day to see the tree lose its leaves day by day. It wasn’t long until the branches gave way too.
There was one branch I often avoided looking at — the truncated limb my dad had cut off when it leaned too far into the neighbour’s yard. Its absence unsettled me, just as the sudden loss of my uncle did. Maybe you avoid looking at things too, the broken or missing pieces that feel too unsettling. The cut-off branch seemed symbolic: severed connections, fractured families. That feeling haunted me most during the strange experience of my uncle’s funeral on Zoom — a ceremony both intimate and disembodied.
Have you ever grieved through a screen? If you have, you’ll know the dissonance of it: seeing faces pixelated, hearing voices break up, the distance cutting through the very thing that’s supposed to connect you. We hooked up late in the evening, huddled around my laptop as my dad’s one had a faulty camera. The only thing worse than a zoom funeral is a zoom funeral on a black screen. Not only were we late, but we joined only to see people weep on the screen. If you’ve ever tried to grieve through a screen, you’ll know how disembodied it feels — seeing familiar faces pixelated, and strangers you’re meant to call family. As some of my relatives I knew quite well, and others were by name only. I had visited rarely since we left when I was the ripe age of one and later when I was ten. I never spoke my mother tongue, Sinhala, as my mum stopped me when I was only five to focus
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: We Have Always Lived in the Castle…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Throughout history, individuals have often resorted to extreme measures in the pursuit of self preservation.…
Throughout history, individuals have often resorted to extreme measures in the pursuit of self preservation. Inspired by her own struggles with agoraphobia and ostracism in an oppressively traditional small town, Shirley Jackson’s 1962 gothic novel “We Have Always Lived in the Castle” (WHALITC) explores the lengths individuals will go to for survival. Jackson posits that some individuals are willing to sacrifice their psychological stability in order to protect themselves. More broadly on a societal level, the novel postulates that individuals are willing to persecute others in order to safeguard values. Moreover, Jackson exposes the ways in which individuals manipulate others as a means of exerting control, and therefore preserving themselves. Ultimately, Jackson elucidates that acts of self preservation often demand sacrifice, yet suggests that it may be more harmful.
Jackson posits that some individuals are willing to sacrifice their psyche in order to preserve themselves and the ideals that they hold. This notion is embodied through the Blackwood sisters who are willing to self isolate in order to maintain their carefully cultivated matriarchal household. Merricat’s distorted worldview catalyses her to view the village as a “gameboard”. Her assertion that “I would win” speaks to notions of arrested development, framing her existence as a series of contests to be conquered. This child-like perception implies that long-term isolation has resulted in stunted emotional maturity, illustrating how this willingness to sacrifice social interaction can warp cognition and the growth necessary for healthy social function. Furthermore, Jackson underscores how extended isolation can diminish one’s sense of autonomy and confidence. Constance’s confession that “it’s all been my fault”, reveals how her seclusion has not only fostered feelings of fear but also internalised guilt. Here, Jackson intimates that long term withdrawal can erode one’s sense of agency, resulting in emotional fragility. Similarly, the villagers also isolate themselves from those who don't share their ideals. Merricat’s description of both the “pale greedy” villagers, but also of the village itself as “unchangingly grey”, indicates that the entirety of the village lacks individual identity. Through this, Jackson conveys that individuals are willing to sacrifice identity in order to avoid the ostracism that arises out of non-conformity. Therefore, Jackson underscores how individuals are forced to sacrifice their psyche to maintain their ideals, criticising a society which imposes such pressures.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Time to Play stimulus 1: "i can think…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 100%: Good evening parents, and welcome to our Sunny Smiles Kindergarten webinar, Time to Play. My name is Michelle,…
Good evening parents, and welcome to our Sunny Smiles Kindergarten webinar, Time to Play. My name is Michelle, and I am one of the educators here at Sunny Smiles. We are delighted you have joined us tonight, because this conversation matters not only for your children, but for us as a community: how best to support their growth.
Our philosophy is clear and simple: play is the foundation of learning. Children learn most deeply not by being told, but by doing, exploring, and imagining. One of my favourite lines captures this perfectly: “I can think whatever I like to think, I can play whatever I like to play.” More than a charming phrase, it reminds us that when children are free to play, they are free to grow — and nothing matters more.
Yet in many kindergartens today, play is being overshadowed by something that at first appears harmless: television. Let me be clear. Screens are a part of modern family life, and in moderation they can entertain or even spark curiosity. But in a kindergarten, where every moment is precious for development, does television truly enrich learning, or does it quietly take away from the very experiences children need most?
Consider this: a study in JAMA Pediatrics tracked toddlers’ daily interactions. For every extra minute in front of a screen, children heard seven fewer words from adults, spoke five fewer words themselves, and missed out on one conversation. Over the course of an hour, that means 420 fewer words heard and 60 conversations lost in a single day. Another Japanese study following more than 7,000 children found that toddlers with over four hours of screen time daily were nearly twice as likely to face delays in communication and problem-solving. Even one to four hours slowed language and social development. And here in Australia, preschoolers average two hours a day, already double the World Health Organisation’s maximum recommendation for ages two to five.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: "Learning to Play Again"
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: The following is a monologue spoken by world renowned broadway actor Michael Logarzo after receiving the “Best…
The following is a monologue spoken by world renowned broadway actor Michael Logarzo after receiving the “Best Actor” award at the 2025 Oscar’s for his performance in the film “Wolf of Conform Street.” Michael is infamously known as the “Rockstar of the film industry,” who is unhinged and unapologetic, and not afraid to speak his mind on issues that he is passionate about. Amongst the audience are the likes of Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie, and Morgan Freeman, as well as the millions of film fanatics watching at home.
(He steps up to the mic, gold statue in hand. Smirks. Lets the silence linger.)
You want to know what’s funny?
They gave me this award for “best actor”… but I’ve been acting since the day I learned to tie my shoes.
And so have you.
Because from the moment we’re born, the director starts whispering:
“Tuck in your shirt.”
“Speak when spoken to.”
“Girls, cross your legs.”
“Boys, don’t cry.”
You think you’re free? You think you’re you?
Nah. You’re just following blocking marks you didn’t lay down. We’ve been taught to perform, but never to play. Real play, not the choreographed, applause-chasing kind. The kind where no one’s watching, where you can be you.
It starts with school, where the script is printed on the uniform policy.
No hoodies. No afros. No ripped jeans.
It’s the professor who interrupts and dismisses assertive women, but praises assertive men for “leadership.” They don’t say it, but the message is clear:
Be neat. Be quiet. Be the same.
And then you graduate - straight into the corporate costume department.
Suits stitched with silence. Heels high enough to keep you from running.
You sit at a desk, eyes dry from staring, lips dry from smiling.
Your ideas? Cut to fit the company tone.
Your voice? Filtered through your boss’s expectations.
Your ambition? Caged behind KPIs and meaningless “team-building” exercises.
Even outside the office, the show doesn’t end.
On Instagram, you're the star of your own feed.
But not the real you.
No, the filtered you.
The one who smiles wide under a sunset you barely looked at.
The one who pretends your relationship isn’t falling apart.
The one who pretends you’re not falling apart.
You think you’re choosing what to post, what to wear, what to say, but all you’re doing is listening to the director’s instructions. They tell you:
“Authenticity doesn’t get you likes, comments, and followers.”
Written by tradition. Directed by patriarchy. Funded by capitalism. That’s who we are.
The director doesn’t need a face. Because we, the cast, keep the show running for them.
But what they don’t tell you is that playing a part costs something; your autonomy. They put you in a room full of mirrors, not to look at yourself, but to see if the mask is still straight.
I still remember the first crack.
I was on set, middle of a night shoot, middle of a meltdown, middle of pretending to be someone I wasn’t. And I caught my own reflection between takes. Just for a second. In one of those cheap vanity mirrors with the fake bulbs. You know the kind.
And I didn’t recognise the guy staring back.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: resist and persist
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: NOW Peering out of the iron in front of me, I watch citizens go about their lives, minding their business,…
NOW
Peering out of the iron in front of me, I watch citizens go about their lives, minding their business, until they lay eyes on me. I watch their eyes widen, mouths open and their steps falter, heads turning back to do a double take when they realise what they are looking at. I watch parents shoot their hands out to cover their children’s eyes, roughly steering them away from the scene. The city itself seems to slow down surrounding the iron bars I am in, as if I am drenched in sickly sweet honey and they are flies caught in it. My heart thumps in my chest like the bars of the cage itself is suffocating me. Flakes of orange and black paint flake off my skin. My long hair tries to escape my ruthless bun and even though the cold breeze against my bare skin makes me shiver and even though the metal beneath my knees bites into my skin, I am sweating. I hold the small banner I am holding closer to my chest, covering it as best I can. I am uncomfortable, claustrophobic and suffocating within the bars of my cage. The pain they endured sears into the forefront of my mind - the torture and the suffering that they can’t voice. So, I must endure, I must remember, and I must stay strong.
But what if this is too much? What if this display, this intensity, is more than what’s needed.
THEN
I wasn’t looking for it. I wanted a break from reality, but instead I got slapped in the face with it. An Instagram post of a dog, wrapped in chains, ears drooping. Its pleading eyes hesitantly looking towards the camera. The bold white text on it read,
“They don’t have a voice, you do”
I clicked on it, up came PETA’s Instagram. Dozens of animals – cows, cats, dogs, chickens – displayed in dismal conditions, ruthlessly bound and in agonizing pain. I was shocked, appalled, heartbroken. Before I knew what I was doing, I contacted the provocative organisation and got involved. Handing out flyers and raising awareness through petitions, until they asked me to do something more scandalous than they had done before. They asked me,
“Do you know the meat that you choose at the supermarket comes from cows that are crammed into overcrowded pens, standing in their own waste? Do you know that humans pay to watch dogs tear each other apart in illegal fights? Do you know that in China, dogs are boiled alive, tortured and cooked while still conscious, just because its believed that the meat tastes “better” when they’re in agony? Do you know that wild tigers are torn from their natural habitats, locked in tiny cages only to be let out to perform circus tricks for our amusement?”
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework: Personal Journey PROVIDED…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Title: What Am I? Summer 27’ Children chasing shells, seagulls hunting food scraps and teenagers sunbaking.…
Title: What Am I?
Summer 27’
Children chasing shells, seagulls hunting food scraps and teenagers sunbaking. The Freeman Beach remained the same every summer, the constant tide closing in on the shore and the harmonious abyss which sat amongst the horizon. Where did it lead? What was it like? My curiosity diverted my attention from Freeman Beach, the place where I learnt how to swim and surf, the place of my first job as a lifeguard and the last place I encountered before leaving for university in the city 3 hours away from home. The last footprints I embed in the sand for a while fade seamlessly with the tide, erasing my presence as I drive the majority of my belongings, myself and my crisp, fresh white Asics away.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I repeat to myself, dreading the anticipated arrival, consuming time repeating simple breathing exercises to myself, before I am forced to face the music. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. My new Asics embark my first steps here, my new home, away from everything I know. They take me to the front desk of campus housing, deep breath in, deep breath out.
‘Hi …’, I mutter, fidgeting with my nails,
‘Um, my name is Imogen Cartwright, I am staying in I think Sandhurst Apartments’, I explain,
‘Nice to meet you Imogen, let me look you up and then I will get you all sorted,’ She begins typing away,
‘You are correct! Sandhurst Apartments, level 4 room 405,’ She exclaims, handing over a map and envelope,
‘If you have any questions or need an extra hand, just find your way back here!’
Autumn 27’
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework "Play"
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Growing up, soccer was never just a game in my family. From my earliest memories, the pitch was a playground…
Growing up, soccer was never just a game in my family. From my earliest memories, the pitch was a playground that tested me. Every kick, every tackle, every missed goal seemed to accumulate into something larger, an invisible scorecard that followed me, measuring my worth. On Saturday mornings, while other parents clapped and cheered for their kids, mine would voice their disappointment, “run faster, shoot quicker, don’t you lose”. Encouragement was rare, and praise was even more foreign, in the world they had created for me. Victory was expected, not celebrated.
I grew up being taught that fun and failure were incompatible; this game was serious, and a loss on the pitch was a loss for me. And so, by the time I reached my teenage years, I wore every defeat like a bruise, internalising the sense that my worth depended on the final whistle.
The turning point for me came around in the grand finals last season, when we were up against a team we had no business losing to. Yet, by halftime, we were trailing behind, heads were down, the atmosphere was heavy; it was as if we had already accepted our fate. Frustration twisted inside me as I stared at my teammates' defeated faces. As the whistle blew, signalling the start of the next half, something snapped. I decided then and there that if no one else was willing to fight, I would, I would fight, and I would win the match myself.
From that moment, something in the ball changed. I chased it with desperation, clung to it as though losing it meant surrender. The ball felt hard, pumped up with pressure, no longer a simple object of play but a reminder of the burden I carried alone. I dribbled past teammates, took reckless shots, and ignored calls. Something that was once a symbol of connection now felt heavy in my possession, swollen by the pressure I carried. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I pressed on, convincing myself that sheer determination alone could rewrite the score.
It didn't. By the end, the scoreboard still showed the same merciless truth, the whistle that I dreaded still sang the same empty song. We had been beaten, but as I trudged off the field, my teammates could hardly bear to look at me as if I were the one to blame.Me. My parent’s lecture that night barely registered, for the first time, their disappointment was drowned out by something louder, my own hollowed exhaustion. That night, I couldn't get the faces of my teammates out of my head, it stung me, like being red-carded not by the referee but by the people I was supposed to stand with.