VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework 2: Writing about protest.…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Disrupt or be Defeated Hello everyone. I’m Jessy Vintian, 17 and just a high-school student. I am actually…
Disrupt or be Defeated
Hello everyone. I’m Jessy Vintian, 17 and just a high-school student. I am actually not a very expressive girl—by expression or words that I say. I love fashion, and I use that as a media to tell “This is me!”—yes! expressing myself. Yet, sexual harrasment is something I’m struggling to avoid—even when I’m wearing a uniform, or a fully covered clothes.
There are too much sexual violence happening to a woman. When someone reports it, the very first question being asked is “Well, what was she wearing?” or “Did she wear something that is sexually appealing?” Which is very weird because why your first question sounds like you are blaming the victim? Not only that, many men catcall a woman “Oh my a cute girl wearing a skirt” in a not so appropriate tone. What else we got? “Hoes,” “Stripper,” and many more by the society just because a girl is wearing a very cute top during summer. People constantly force us to just cover up more, don’t show any skin, while here I am going to prove that sexual abuse does not start with clothing—but uncontrollable lust.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Framework 2: Writing about protest.…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 62.5%: Disrupt or be Defeated Hello everyone. I’m Jessy Vintian, 17 and just a high-school student. I am actually…
Disrupt or be Defeated
Hello everyone. I’m Jessy Vintian, 17 and just a high-school student. I am actually not a very expressive girl—by expression or words that I say. I love fashion, and I use that as a media to tell “This is me!”—yes! expressing myself. Yet, sexual harrasment is something I’m struggling to avoid—even when I’m wearing a uniform, or a fully covered clothes.
There are so many, too many sexual vioelence happened to a woman. When someone report it, the very first question is being asked is “Well, what was she wearing?” “Did she wears something that is sexually appealing?” Which is very weird because why your first question sounds like you are blaming the victim? Not only that, many men catcall a woman “Oh my a cute girl wearing a skirt” in a not so appropriate tone. What else we got? “Hoes,” “Stripper,” and many more by the society just because a girl is wearing a very cute top during summer. People constantly force us to just cover up more, don’t show any skin, while here I am going to prove that sexual abuse does not start with clothing—but uncontrollable lust.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: title: 'change' stimulus 1: image…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 100%: Change July 1848 — Elizabeth Finley The tall clock in the hall struck nine, and its chimes were the only sound…
Change
July 1848 — Elizabeth Finley
The tall clock in the hall struck nine, and its chimes were the only sound in the empty house. Illness, I had told my mother, and she had gone to the sewing circle without me. My footsteps left no trace, as though my body were already practising to be unseen. I took a long pale ribbon from my satchel and tied it into the single braid that fell down my back, a small bow, hardly anything, the sort a girl might wear to be admired. That was the point. Mary waited at the corner with my own fear on her face, and she took my hand, and together we kept to the shadows.
Outside the Wesleyan Chapel, a small crowd of women had gathered, glancing about with wide eyes, speaking in whispers. Their signs were held low against their skirts, the words turned inward, as if even the paper were afraid. If word of my being here reached the church women by morning, my name would be ruined, and a woman’s name was most of what she owned.
At ten the clocktower struck and the crowd began to move. Mary and I joined at the back. “We shall not be silenced,” we said, and the first word caught in my throat, my voice so unfamiliar I thought someone else had spoken. We had been taught to be quiet, obedient, unseen. But as other voices rose beside mine, silence began to seem the greater danger. Beneath it all, a small voice kept asking, is this worth it?
I have my answer now, though not the one I hoped for. Word reached home before I did. My father sat at the head of the table and would not look at me. “You do not understand what you are asking,” he said, which was as near as he came to reasoning, “and the times are not changing as quickly as you imagine.” By the week’s end the church women had stopped inviting me anywhere. Mary was sent to a cousin’s for the summer, “to recover her judgement.” Nothing changed in the law, not that year, not the next. I do not know if it will change in mine.
I have kept the ribbon. It lies at the bottom of my sewing box, where no one thinks to look, and some evenings I hold it, not because I believe it will be enough, but because I refuse to let the wanting stop simply because the having has not yet come.
Present Day — Grace Finley
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: framework: protest Title: Which side…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 100%: Which side are you on Mind the edges. Glass gets into the bristles first, then your shoes, then, if you’re…
Which side are you on
Mind the edges. Glass gets into the bristles first, then your shoes, then, if you’re careless, your tea.
At six in the morning Barker Street looks as though someone has picked it up and shaken it out. Fourteen panes. I counted twice, because the first time I reached nine and had to sit down on the step. Thirty-one years I’ve had this window, Ray’s Hardware & Keys in gold letters my father paid a man to paint. Now the gold is in the gutter with everything else.
Beside it, face up in the wet, lies a torn piece of cardboard. I know it. I sold the board and the marker that wrote it. ‘SILENCE is VIO—’ it says, and the rest is gone. I don’t need the rest. I know how the sentence ends, and I know who it’s pointed at.
For eleven months the council offices have faced my shop from across the road. Eleven months ago, they closed the children’s ward at the hospital on the hill. Every Saturday since, forty or fifty people have stood out the front with cardboard, and every Saturday I’ve given them the trade price on the paint and told them, good on you. I signed the petition. It’s still by my till, forty-one pages, a coffee ring on page nine. The council wrote back to thank us for our ‘valued feedback’. In March, Maisie Doyle’s mother drove forty minutes to the next hospital with a girl who didn’t make it. In April, the council passed a by-law banning any gathering on its front steps. And every morning, through all of it, Dev the night guard has lifted his thermos to me through the lobby glass as he knocks off, and I’ve lifted my keys back.
Last night, around midnight, the signs stopped being signs.
By seven the street is waking up in pieces. A single sneaker lies in the middle of the road, laces trailing, strangely neat. On the council’s top step, a thermos lies on its side with the lid off, and the lobby light is on with nobody behind it. I look at that thermos longer than I should. People come out to look, and without anyone saying a word, they sort themselves. On my side of the road, owners with their arms folded, counting the damage. Across from us, on the steps, the Saturday regulars in hoods and wet jackets, saying nothing, not looking our way.
Arriving at eight is a van with a camera on its roof, and a man from the council steps out in clean shoes. He plants himself on the kerb in front of my ruined window and says, “Mindless violence,” to a lens. Mindless. Eleven months of letters, and the only thing they couldn’t ignore was the sound of breaking, and he calls it mindless.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Prompt: The Truth
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: The Minnesota Times October 3rd, 2026 Stephanie Lim The Truth The deaths of Alice Smith* and Aiden Simons*…
The Minnesota Times
October 3rd, 2026
Stephanie Lim
The Truth
The deaths of Alice Smith* and Aiden Simons* are tragedies which have left our community grieving, angry and betrayed. A community now living in fear in a nation that once represented the land of the free and the home of the brave.
It is these tragedies at the hands of the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement which have left us questioning the facade of safety offered to us by those in power. It is these tragedies which have compelled me to pen this article and to urge you to demand a government that no longer protects us to face the reality of our insidiously cruel nation.
However, anger and questioning do not change the law, nor do they restrict the unrestrained violence of institutions freely exploiting their power. If we are to protect our community from the grief, anger and betrayal we experience now, the only path forward is to confront the American public with the truth. It is only this which will catalyse legislative change, change that will restore our fundamental liberty. If we are to then enforce such changes to ICE’s powers, our frustration and rage must become organised, collective and peaceful, political action. Through my role as a proud chairperson of the American Civil Liberties Union and the ICE Out for Good movement, I understand the power of a unified front. A unified front that challenges the misguided preconceptions of the American people is now the sole path to crucial legislative change.
It is not the first time that a unified American front has needed to challenge the racist rhetoric promoted by institutions too grand. History has shown us the power of collective protest in exerting political pressure on the public and those in power. In the 1963 March on Washington, 250,000 African Americans confronted racial segregation, systemic social-economic inequality and disenfranchisement, each marcher’s voice amplifying the chorus of demand until it ultimately became unignorable. What it ultimately teaches us is that when racist ideology is embedded within the structures of society itself, change does not begin with those who are in power, those who benefit from such rhetorics. Instead, it begins with ordinary people, like you and me, who first must collectively reject these insidiously normalised lies by making our demands visible. It is ordinary people like you and me who must confront the public with the truth of social injustice and be the catalysts of change. Just as they confronted segregation, we must now join the fight in confronting the brutal reality of ICE’s unconstitutional violence in our own communities
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: framework: protest title: Stepping up…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: Stepping up The card was thick and glossy, the kind kept for things that mattered, and my pen scratched…
Stepping up
The card was thick and glossy, the kind kept for things that mattered, and my pen scratched across it like a mouse in the wall. Beyond my window, rain slid down the slate roof of the old library, and on the steps below it a few dozen people in wet jackets stood holding cardboard. I drew the curtain halfway. On my desk, a candle, kept for power cuts and then lit purely out of habit, leaned every time the pipes knocked. Beside it lay a paperback I had read four times, because nothing in it asked anything of me.
Voices echoed in my ear, reminding me of the “economic gains” and “technological advancement” that can come from repurposing these “unused buildings”. I repeated the phrases under my breath as I signed the nineteenth declaration. Beneath them, something small kept asking whether I was closing a building or a memory. I blew on the ink until it dried.
On Tuesday the shouting thinned to a murmur, reassuring me that I was making the right decision.
On Thursday it came back, and the candle shook with every bang against the walls, disrupting the dark serenity of my office. I marched through the corridors to address the mob that was waiting by the front entrance. I opened the large oak door; a flood of colours filled my vision as signs of all sizes were pushed into my face. The disrespect of these individuals was astonishing, causing me to wonder how they expected their hostility to change my mind. I decided that I’d had enough. I marched down the corridor and heaved open the oak door at the top of the steps, ready to impose reason upon them.
There were two crowds, not one, pressed into the wet square below the steps like two tides meeting. On the left, the library people: a retired teacher with her scarf pulled up to her chin, students sharing a single umbrella, and an old man holding a tattered Irthish primer above his head like a flag, its pages gone translucent in the rain. On the right, in mud-streaked high-vis vests, stood workers from the demolition contract and the cafés on the square, their signs reading ‘JOBS NOT SHELVES’ and ‘WE HAVE KIDS TOO’. Each side's chanting crashed against the other's until I could not tell which words were meant for me. A man in a vest climbed the steps one slow boot at a time, until his face was level with mine. His knuckles had gone white around the handle of his sign. He was not angry. He was frightened. "My contract starts on the fifteenth," he said. "You going to tell my wife the books matter more?"
I had no answer. I shut the door on both of them, and the sound followed me down the corridor anyway.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: ii. In High Ground, a desire for…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Changing Direction The thought comes to me unexpectedly as I brush dust from the banister. It's moving week, my…
Changing Direction
The thought comes to me unexpectedly as I brush dust from the banister. It's moving week, my childhood confined to cardboard boxes, my posters peeled away, leaving the walls naked and cold. Memories were cherished in this place, plucked from ordinary moments and polished until they gleamed with the perfection my parents could be proud of. No one ever forgot anything. But I did.
The garden spills towards the concrete path in tangled beds of colour. The air is thick with the sweet, almost cloying scent of syringa, mingled with the damp, mineral smell of rainwater pooled in the saucers beneath the terracotta pots. Nothing here seems entirely still. Once, a summer afternoon had been large enough to hold an entire universe, grass-stained knees, and the unbearable urgency of a game that could not possibly wait until tomorrow. Now I could cross that same ‘field’ in eleven seconds. My mother creeps up behind me, misreading the glassy rims of my eyes.
‘Strange,’ she says. ‘All your childhood, the closest you ever got to the garden was reading a book on the porch.’ My head swivels to face her. I open my mouth, but the memory I reach for feels suddenly unfamiliar.
A fear of beetles beneath the leaves, knees scraped against the asphalt, the neighbours’ children shrieking with laughter, my eye pressed to a knot-hole in the fence, waiting for someone to invite me in. My memories begin changing directions, the warmth draining from them as quickly as sunlight slipping behind a cloud. My throat tightens. Somewhere beyond the fence, a shriek cuts through the afternoon, and I am small again, watching the others scatter without once looking back. I remember the sting of gravel against my knees, the heat rising to my face, the awful stillness after their laughter faded. I had remembered the summer. I had forgotten the waiting.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Title: Every Voice Matters Prompt:…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Every Voice Matters ESPN News Services - Opinion Andres Molina Feb 26th, 2026 9:02AM Last week, football was…
Every Voice Matters
ESPN News Services - Opinion
Andres Molina
Feb 26th, 2026 9:02AM
Last week, football was once again overshadowed by something far uglier than rivalry. During Real Madrid’s Champions League playoff first leg game against SL Benfica, the spotlight was taken off the football and onto the disturbing scenes that occurred after Vinicius Jr’s goal for Real Madrid, which proved to be the only goal in a 1-0 win for Los Blancos.
After his undeniably brilliant goal and a more controversial celebration, Brazilian winger, Vinicius Jr, became the target of racial abuse by Argentine Benfica player, Gianluca Prestianni.
Football has never been just a game. Politics have long been intertwined with the game, which has been and remains a platform for expression of social and political views by anyone to a global audience.
Protest in football can garner great attention and help catalyse positive, real change in the world.
AS IT UNFOLDED
Vinicius Jr scored what may be one of the best goals of his career last week in Portugal, and his celebration brought about controversy when he danced in front of the corner flag with a Benfica logo on it (for which he received a yellow card). Vini was then approached by Prestianni.
Prestianni could be seen, with his mouth covered by his shirt, remarking something at Vinicius, which immediately caused him to run to the referee in distress, visibly distraught and emotional.
Referee, Francois Letexier, paused the match amid the tense confrontation and Vini, in protest, ran off the pitch and sat in the dugout.
For 15 minutes, the game was abandoned as heated encounters between Real Madrid and Benfica players broke out and Vinicius conversed passionately with Real Madrid coach, Alvaro Arbeloa, and Benfica coach, Jose Mourinho.
The 15 minutes for which the match was abandoned not only brought the game to a necessary halt, but also challenged normalised silence that allows such incidents to persist. In that moment, Vinicius refused to remain quiet and used the platform football gave him to use his voice and fight for, not only himself, but for all players that have been subjected to the same abuse.
PLAYER AND MANAGER REACTIONS
After the game, Real Madrid teammates, Kylian Mbappe and Trent Alexander-Arnold, as well as coaches of both sides voiced their opinions in post-match interviews.
Kylian Mbappe revealed Prestianni called Vinicius a monkey 5 times. He refused to call Prestianni by name, stating “he doesn’t deserve it” and “he doesn’t deserve to play [in the] Champions League”. Mbappe also stated “whatever [Vini] decides, we’ll do”, revealing the players would have abandoned the game permanently in protest and support.
Alexander-Arnold labelled Prestianni’s actions a “disgrace to the sport”, reinforcing Real Madrid’s full backing of Vinicius.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: TITLE: “Standing Still” STIMULUS: The…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: TITLE: “Standing Still” STIMULUS: The image/stimulus 2 As a child, I looked up to my father as if he were…
TITLE: “Standing Still”
STIMULUS: The image/stimulus 2
As a child, I looked up to my father as if he were something immovable, a tall statue set firmly on its pedestal, carved from something stronger than the rest of us. He was steady, reliable, unbreakable. Around him, conversation felt careful, something measured before spoken. I learnt quickly how to soften my words, how to swallow opinions before they became disagreements. At the time, I mistook that caution for respect, believing my silence was the very thing that kept the peace.
But as I grew older, that carefulness began to feel less like respect and more like fear. I remember the way the air would shift if I dropped a fork or spoke too loudly: the atmosphere would turn sharp and brittle in an instant. Silence stopped feeling like a choice and became a weight I carried everywhere, a shadow that trailed me long after the moments of tension had passed.
“You’ve parked too far from the shop.” I said, my voice louder than I intended. His lips pressed into a thin line, and I immediately hesitated. “It’s a bit far... but it’s fine.” He went completely still, jaw locked, eyes fixed, not a flicker of movement, like something carved rather than living. The same stillness I once mistook for strength pressed in on me now. My chest tightened. I went silent again. “You don’t need to make a thing out of it.” He gestured to the car, its grey body parked there, a weight that followed me even as I walked away. “You weren’t this difficult before,” he said. I didn’t respond, just silently walked beside him as my jaw clenched and eyes burned. The words curdled into a bitter seed at the base of my tongue; I swallowed it whole, letting it take root in the pit of my stomach. The silence branched out, a thorned thicket that snagged every new thought before it could reach the surface, pulling them back down and whispering that my voice was a useless thing.
That thicket followed us home. At dinner, the only sounds were the scrape of forks against plates, a conversation held in metal and ceramic. It hovered in the doorways as we passed each other without a word. By the time Dad took me driving, I had already learnt to grip my words as tightly as the steering wheel.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Mum was impossible to ignore. She reminded me to eat breakfast when I was already halfway out the door, told me…
Mum was impossible to ignore.
She reminded me to eat breakfast when I was already halfway out the door, told me to drink more water when the bottle in my hand wasn’t empty, and asked if I had finished my science poster before I had even taken my shoes off. If the weather looked remotely cold, she would appear in my doorway holding a jumper as though I were incapable of recognising winter for myself.
“Take it.”
“Mum, I’m not cold.”
“You will be.”
“I won’t.”
“You always say that.”
She was usually right, which somehow made it worse.
For months, she had been sick, though I tried not to call it that. Sick sounded too permanent and too real. What she had was appointments and blood tests and tables arranged in little plastic compartments and afternoons where she slept longer than usual and mornings where she stood at the kitchen counter with both hands wrapped around her hideous yellow mug, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
I pretended I didn’t notice. I pretended she was getting better. There would be another appointment, another prescription, another week.
There was always another week.
On Saturdays, we went to the shops. Specifically, the bakery.
It was never discussed. We simply went. She would order a small, extra-hot oat latte, with one Equal, and I got an iced chocolate, with extra whipped cream, and while we would wait for our order, she would complain that I had spent too much money on drinks that were mostly ice. Then, without fail, she would reach across and steal the cherry from the top.
“You don’t even like cherries.”
“I like yours,” she would say.
“You have your own.”
“Mine doesn’t have a cherry.”
“You just said you don’t like iced chocolate.”
“I don’t. I like the cherry.”
I would pretend to be annoyed and slide the glass further away from her, knowing perfectly well she would steal it anyway.
On Sunday nights, Mum would remind me at least four times to make sure I had my uniform ready for school the next day. And every Sunday, a bit past 10 pm, it would appear on my bed, folded neatly, the scent of floral fabric softener emanating from the pile. I would always tell her, “I was just about to put it in the wash; you didn’t have to do it for me,” mildly irritated that she never seemed to believe I was capable of doing it myself. Before school photos, she’d stand behind me with my lilac comb and would nag me to stop moving and brush through my hair. It’d always get caught in the tangles, and I’d always yell at her for brushing too roughly.
Once, I asked why she bothered.
“Because otherwise you’ll complain when you see the photo.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“You complained last year.”
“That was different.”
“It was the same hair.”
She smiled at me through the mirror.
I looked away.
Mum became more tired eventually. The routines changed quietly without either of us acknowledging it. She stopped coming to the bakery every Saturday. Sometimes, Dad went instead, and sometimes I went alone. She still bought my Cocoa Pops at the supermarket though, even when she could barely carry the bags. She still peeled the oranges for me because I hated getting the juice under my fingernails, despite the invisible ache in her nerves. She still cut my sandwiches into four triangles, placing the two corner pieces together at the bottom of my lunchbox, even though she sometimes struggled to force the lid onto the plastic container.
“The dangerous ones,” she’d call them.
I laughed the first few times.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 97.5%: Optimism "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my…
Optimism
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew she and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my mother’s diamond earrings in my pocket. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn’t go back. I needed to find some work to distract myself. Every day I would see streets lined with women in tattered and worn-down black clothing that I never thought I’d join. However, my times were getting desperate, and the future was beginning to seem further away. I just needed some money to start my new life properly.
I saw a woman climb into a car’s backseat one day, and pictured the cash she would likely receive later that night. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what I needed to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
The gnawing hunger in my stomach began to drown out the echoes of my old life. As I stared at the black fabric of the clothes, blending into one another, the shame of going home finally felt heavier than the fear of staying here.
"Here, this will get you started." I took a skirt and lace top from her. "Get changed here; no one who sees you will remember."
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 95%: Optimism "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room…
Optimism
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew she and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my mother’s diamond earrings in my pocket. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn’t go back. I needed to find some work to distract myself. Every day I would see streets lined with women in tattered and worn-down black clothing that I never thought I’d join. However, my times were getting desperate, and the future was beginning to seem further away. I just needed some money to start my new life properly.
I saw a woman climb into a car’s backseat one day, and pictured the cash she would likely receive later that night. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what I needed to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
The gnawing hunger in my stomach began to drown out the echoes of my old life. As I stared at the black fabric of the clothes, blending into one another, the shame of going home finally felt heavier than the fear of staying here.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 92.5%: Optimism "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my…
Optimism
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew she and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my mother’s diamond earrings in my pocket. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn’t go back. I needed to find some work to distract myself. Every day I would see streets lined with women in tattered and worn-down black clothing that I never thought I’d join. However, my times were getting desperate, and the future was beginning to seem further away. I just needed some money to start my new life properly.
I saw a woman climb into a car’s backseat one day, and pictured the cash she would likely receive later that night. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what I needed to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
The gnawing hunger in my stomach began to drown out the echoes of my old life. As I stared at the black fabric of the clothes, blending into one another, the shame of going home finally felt heavier than the fear of staying here.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 90%: Optimism "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room…
Optimism
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew she and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my mother’s diamond earrings in my pocket. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn’t go back. I needed to find some work to distract myself. Every day I would see streets lined with women in tattered and worn-down black clothing that I never thought I’d join. However, my times were getting desperate, and the future was beginning to seem further away. I just needed some money to start my new life properly.
I saw a woman climb into a car’s backseat one day, and pictured the cash she would likely receive later that night. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what I needed to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
The gnawing hunger in my stomach began to drown out the echoes of my old life. As I stared at the black fabric of the clothes, blending into one another, the shame of going home finally felt heavier than the fear of staying here.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Optimism "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my…
Optimism
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew she and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my mother’s diamond earrings in my pocket. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn’t go back. I needed to find some work to distract myself. Every day I would see streets lined with women in tattered and worn-down black clothing that I never thought I’d join. However, my times were getting desperate, and the future was beginning to seem further away. I just needed some money to start my new life properly.
I saw a woman climb into a car’s backseat one day, and pictured the cash she would likely receive later that night. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what I needed to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
The gnawing hunger in my stomach began to drown out the echoes of my old life, and as I stared at the black fabric of the clothes, blending into one another, the shame of going home finally felt heavier than the fear of staying here.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 85%: Optimism "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room…
Optimism
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew she and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my mother’s diamond earrings in my pocket. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn’t go back. I needed to find some work to distract myself. Every day I would see streets lined with women in small black clothing that I never thought I’d join. However, my times were getting desperate, and the future was beginning to seem further away. I just needed some money to start my new life properly.
I saw a woman climb into a car’s backseat one day, and pictured the cash she would likely receive later that night. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what I needed to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
The gnawing hunger in my stomach began to drown out the echoes of my old life, and as I stared at the black fabric of the clothes, blending into one another, the shame of going home finally felt heavier than the fear of staying here.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 82.5%: Optimism "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my…
Optimism
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew she and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my mother’s diamond earrings in my pocket. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn’t go back. I needed to find some work to distract myself. Every day I would see streets lined with women in small black clothing that I never thought I’d join. However, my times were getting desperate, and the future was beginning to seem further away. I just needed some money to start my new life properly.
I saw a woman climb into a car’s backseat one day, and pictured the cash she would likely receive later that night. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what I needed to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
The gnawing hunger in my stomach began to drown out the echoes of my old life, and as I stared at the black fabric of the pile, blending into each other, the shame of going home finally felt heavier than the fear of staying here.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Optimism "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room…
Optimism
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew her and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my mother’s diamond earrings in my pocket. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn’t go back. I needed to find some work to distract myself. Every day I would see streets lined with women in small black clothing that I never thought I’d join. However, my times were getting desperate, and the future was beginning to seem further away. I just needed some money to start my new life properly.
I saw a woman climb into a car’s backseat one day, and pictured the cash she would likely to receive later that night. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what I needed to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
"Here, this will get you started." I took a skirt and lace top from her. "Get changed here; no one who sees you will remember."
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 77.5%: "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and…
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew her and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my laptop, charger, and my mother’s diamond earrings in my backpack. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I couldn't go back; my future was still shining over the horizon, and I knew I could reach it. I took my laptop and earrings to the first pawn shop I found. He took the laptop, not the diamond earrings. "They'll help you attract customers," he said, pointing to the corner of the street where a fragile-looking woman was climbing into a car backseat. He handed me a hundred-dollar bill. "Hurry, soon there won't be any left." He laughed, seemingly at me.
I needed some money to start my new life properly; this was the easiest way to do that. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing.
"Here, this will get you started." I took a skirt and lace top from her. "Get changed here; no one that sees you will remember."
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Personal Journeys
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 75%: "I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and…
"I hate you! I wish I were never born!" was the last thing I ever said to my mother. I ran to my room and didn't leave until I knew her and my brother were asleep. I left my room with a bag of clothes in each hand and my laptop, charger, and my mother’s diamond earrings in my backpack. I knew I had a bright future ahead of me.
That night, I slept under the stars and thought about the life I had ahead of me; a life without my mother’s nagging was waiting. It was three days before I saw a 'missing' poster with my name in bold letters. I couldn't sleep that night knowing my mother was already looking for me; the echo of my brother asking where I was consumed me. On the fourth day, I bought a ticket to the furthest states our buses went to, showering in the public bathroom before I left. Watching the mountain ranges slowly become flat plains sparked excitement for the future I had on my horizon.
It took a week and getting kicked out of three McDonald's for me to start missing home, but I refused to go back; my future was still shining over the horizon, and I knew I could reach it. I found a pawn shop on a run-down street for some lunch money.
"I’ll take your computer, not the earrings. They'll help you attract customers," he said, pointing to the corner of the street where a fragile-looking woman was climbing into a car's backseat, then handed me a hundred-dollar bill. "Hurry, soon there won't be any left," he laughed, leading me out of his door.
I needed some money to start my new life properly; this was the easiest way to do that. I could be in-and-out in a couple of weeks with some cash – and maybe some friends. I asked the woman who replaced the one I'd seen what to do.
"You're a doll. The girls have some clothes back here." She led me through an alleyway to a tent with piles of black clothing, don’t need gap
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: Write a persuasive text
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 80%: Every Dungeons and Dragons game begins the same way: a blank character sheet. Before the adventure starts, you…
Every Dungeons and Dragons game begins the same way: a blank character sheet. Before the adventure starts, you roll the dice and decide what kind of person you want to become, dictated by both your skills and your flaws. Intelligence? Wisdom? Strength? Every decision shapes how you'll face the world.
If modern Australia had a character sheet, we'd have invested into building ambition, productivity, and independence. We'd boast impressive Intelligence scores, Strength of massive proportions, maybe even of Wisdom beyond our years. But somewhere along the way, we decided Charisma, and the ability to connect, wasn’t a priority. We forgot that no quest, real or imagined, is meant to be completed alone. Somewhere along the way, we lost sight of what makes us human: our need to belong, to connect, and to share our lives with others.
When I tell people I spend my Thursday afternoons playing D&D, I usually get one of two reactions: confusion or amusement. To many people, it's still a weird game about rolling dice and pretending to be elves. Worst case, they believe its some devil-worshiping, cult-y freakshow with too many innuendos and too little deodorant. Yet despite this, every week, school D&D clubs fill with students who stay long after the (silent) final bell, choosing 'make-believe' instead of going home.
The same thing is happening far beyond Australian classrooms as well. Stranger Things transformed the Hellfire Club from a derogatory stereotype into a symbol of community, Baldur's Gate 3 introduced over 20 million players (so far) to collaborative storytelling, and audiences continue to spend hours watching strangers play D&D through Critical Role, and many other channels similar.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: 'Changing Directions', personal…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Since the first day my grandma came to Australia, I struggled to connect with her. She wore a heavy, solemn…
Since the first day my grandma came to Australia, I struggled to connect with her.
She wore a heavy, solemn expression that dulled my mood every time I walked into the kitchen. Her clothes were stained of the same turmeric and paprika that stung my eyes, the aroma saturating the house until it reached my bedroom walls. Her hair was twisted into a thick black braid, like a rope waiting to slash me. Her heavy accent jarred against my ten year old ears as she attempted to pronounce the English letters of my school photo, squinting against her rimmed glasses. I did not understand why she had to barge into my life, especially when she would not let me into hers.
In the evening of the first day she arrived, I tried to ask why she had to move in with us. Yet the words that bubbled up in my throat quickly popped as she glanced at the spoon next to our dinner plates.
“I don’t understand why you use this.” she declared in her language, pointing a finger at the spoon as if it had personally wronged her. I watched as she dug up the rice with her hands, shoving it in her mouth like a snowball. I grasped my utensils in concern. Why couldn’t she just eat normally?
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: itle: Echoes Stimulus 1: "The voice of…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 87.5%: Echoes: Transcript of retired AFL player Billy Flowers’ speech at the 2026 Brownlow Ceremony: There’s a…
Echoes:
Transcript of retired AFL player Billy Flowers’ speech at the 2026 Brownlow Ceremony:
There’s a moment in sports that most people here tonight, at the Brownlow, won’t get the opportunity to notice. It’s not on the field, nor does it make its presence known during the game. The subtle shift happens after. The cameras have been switched off. Crowds have returned home. Rooms are empty, not even an echo in them. Yet in the corner, a player continues to sit, still in his jersey. Alone. You ask him if he’s alright and receive a flippant response. “Yeah, all good”. Same words. Every single time. And we accept it. We don’t ask questions. To me, that’s the most dangerous part of the game. Not the tackles. Not the concussions. Not the injuries. The silence. Nobody speaks, yet the voice of the people is supposed to be the “voice of god”.
All the celebrations of excellence tonight are dampened for me by one thing. The silence. Not a word is spoken, yet the silence echoes louder than any could. The countless men who sit in this crown, letting their silence echo because they are afraid to speak.
After all the incidents and news stories, we still refuse to address the root of the problem. We treat it like an issue to acknowledge, not a system to challenge. We sit here, silent, waiting for the next young talent to be reduced to a headline in the Herald Sun. Protest, by definition, is not silent. It is not awareness without action. It is disruption. When I think of protest, I see a crowd marching through our streets, yelling through megaphones so their voice can be heard through the streets, echoing. Our comfort with uncomfortable silence means that right now, protest is unheard, unseen, and ineffective.
What does our beautiful game teach us about being a man? You endure, you push through the pain, you don’t complain. Why? Because you are privileged to be a ‘man’. You have it ‘easy’, so why march and protest? We treat the men who play through their injury as heroes, celebrating them as warriors, whilst the men who listen to their bodies and minds are deemed ‘soft’. What message does that send? What are we clearly communicating to the young boys at home watching on TV? What are we reinforcing to the young men, feeling lost, trying to pave their own path? We are consolidating the idea that strength is judged by how much weight you can carry. Alone. And that loneliness echoes through our game.
This isn’t just in football either. The silence and loneliness reverberate in everyday society, and football is one of the many culprits behind this toxic masculine culture of privilege and strength. By placing these men on a pedestal and othering them, we lose track of the true purpose of sport. The crux of this industry is to reflect humanity’s search for excellence and integrity. The very connotations of SPORTSmanship are collaboration and teamwork. Yet we judge and abandon our players in their attempts to preserve this sentiment.
VCE · Creative Response
Creative Response: What if we tried something new When we…
VCE Creative Response essay scoring 72.5%: Rubric Part B (1) What if we tried something new? Comic books: For play or for profit? Grace Grayson 27/10…
Rubric Part B (1)
What if we tried something new?
Comic books: For play or for profit?
Grace Grayson 27/10
The origin story
It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Supermans debut, leaping in Action Comics #1 on the 18th of April 1938. Going for 10c, Which is in today is $6.52, Superman's first apperance was nothing like the superhero comic books we know today, he couldn't even fly! The man of Steel was created by Jewish-American's Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster in a dangerous and scary time for the pair. Superman brought hope for citizens who had just survived the great deppression and were about to be thrown into a world war. However the character wouldn't be safe from the claws of DC comics and their strive for profit. Superman was bought by DC in March of 1938, with the two creators splitting $130. Profit found it's way into Superman comics before the character even debuted.
Batman followed soon after debuting in March of 1939 and recieving a solo series just a year later. Batman's debut can be pinned for one reason: Profit, following the success of Superman. DC didn't have to struggle for the rights of the character, as Batman was created directly for them. Although, the uncredited mastermind behind the legendary dark knight, Bill Finger, died broke and alone in 1974, without ever seeing his name associated with the character. Following this information, it's difficult to imagine if there ever even was a time where comic books were created for the sole purpose of play.
The Comics Code Authority: The suppression of art
The CCA was censor body for the U.S comic book industry formed in 1954 by the Comics Magazine Association of America (CMMA). The code was created following public panic regarding Dr. Fredric Wertham's 1954 book 'Seduction of the innocent' which had claims that comic books were directly responsible for youth crimes. Restrictions included crime & violence, horror & supernatural, sex & morality, LGBTQ+ content and notably, authority. Comic books could not depict any government officials, judges and police officers in a way that could create any disrespect for established authority. Comic books that once held the power to call out said authority on many
Rubic Para B 2
Social issues, now had their power removed from them.
List of criteria required to gain the approval by the CCA