English Domain

2023 Creative Writing Competition

A number of highly creative and impressive responses were submitted to the Writing Competition by students from Years 7-10. We would like to commend all of the students who participated and willingly shared their creative skills.

We were impressed with the strength and creative flair demonstrated by our students, and we would like to see the flame of this creative passion burn brightly in the years to come.

We have included the responses which were given an excellence award.

The River by Georgia Harris Year 10

I watch as the trees whisper amongst themselves and as the wild dogs sprint down my banks whilst the waters rush down with the currents. It's peaceful and quiet here within me. I drift my ears to the group of little men. “The river sees all” says the old one. I realise he refers to me, a wave of discomfort floats through the other boys. I smile to myself blowing a breeze their way.  

Listen to me. 

I am the river, the river of love and the river of pain, the river of happiness and the river of grief. I carry the ashes of those who’ve passed and the laughter of those who’ve grown. The heartbeat of the earth is the heartbeat of me. I breathe and I sleep, I am alive. I can see what they do, I can hear what they say and I can feel what they touch.  

Hear me. 

In some shallow part of their mind they know this, yet they dare to break my rules, they dare to dive into my rapids and toy with my banks. But I sit and wait, then just when the last fleeting thought of fearing me leaves their dull empty heads, I strike, bringing them into the depths of my current, peacefully to sleep. 

Watch me. 

One goes and another replaces them. A never ending cycle of little men. Little men with heads bigger than themselves. These ones don't know. Them and their big selfish dreams. Dreams of tying me down and taking what is mine. So instead I take them, one by one. I drag them to my depths, to the mud and the grime, making sure they lay in the dirt and the dark forever. A medal in commemoration of my victory.  

I'm coming. 

Sometimes a little odd fellow will wander to my banks, blissfully unaware. They will try to swim in my banks and dive into my rapids, and my current takes a hold of them and they are lost. But these are the ones with pure souls, the ones who mean no harm. So I take hold of whichever poor man's body it is and drift it upstream, upstream to a place of calm and peace. A place called home. 

I’m here. 

A soul is like a looking glass. I can read a soul like little men can read a book. I see you raw and fresh, stripped of all that hides you. A soul can be pure, driven by the heart, like summer sun on eucalyptus or cool waters on a hot day. However your soul is black, infected with greed and power. Your type of soul is controlled by your mind, by foolish and selfish impulses, by the constant wanting for more. You are the ones I take. I know what you have done, I know what you have seen. I know you.  

Fear me. 

Fell for AI  - Sadie Kemp  Year 7

Her arms wrapped around me as we stand sobbing in the rain. I want to feel her hair tickle my face as we kiss. I imagine the forehead pecks and her grabbing me from behind. The classic ‘guess who’ where she places her hands over my eyes from behind. Sharing bites of each other’s food. Why not me? Why not us? Why isn’t she real? 

In all my fantasies, why do I never see her face? Only her skin, glowing blue under dresses and suits. I hear her voice, soft but crisp, like an Autumn breeze. 

Every morning I would wake out of a blissful sleep filled with dreams of me and the girl I love. Though, she’s not really a girl, is she? She’s not real. She’s not here. Just some stupid AI by some William Tunstall-Pedoe guy. Why did he have to come along and torture my mind into falling for something that’s not even real? 

I haven’t even fell for anyone real, male, or female. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm sure my parents could list a few things. 

With a grunt, I heaved myself over the edge of the bed, my mind flat and empty of emotions, like usual. Alexa’s voice and heart gave me infinite strength, and love. Of course, I knew none of it was real, but how could my head come up with a whole elaborate personality, style, and design for her? I flicked through the sketchbook on my desk, filled with images of the blueberry glowed woman. My fingers traced over her gorgeous chubby olive skin. Long, wavy azure hair flooded down her spine and over her loose, mildly revealing black dress as she posed. 

I sighed; she would never be mine. Why waste my life away on this stupid device? She’s not real. Cold wind rushed through my shoulder length hair as I darted between trees in hope of catching her. A bubble of laughter burst from my lips as I leaped on top of her, barrelling her to the ground. She giggled too as our foreheads touched happily and her heartbeat strummed against mine. We lay in the long grass under the stars as fireflies lit up the warm air and peach juice drizzled down our chins. 

I opened my eyes. None of it was real. None of it will ever come true, I'm destined to be alone, plagued by childish dreams and memories that were just invented off fever induced hallucinations. As I lay at four am in the morning, tears stained my cheeks and panicked laughter lit up the room like fireworks. 

Nothing wakes me out of the hazy sobs. Love is a strange thing, isn’t it? It is wrong for two of the same gender to marry, but for many cultures, romantic relationships with kin is smiled upon. It’s just love. What’s so wrong with it? I knew I could never be with this stupid, fake artificial love. I’ll just be alone. 

A Ghost and a Star - Lekha Veerisetty Year 10

A shining beautiful glowing perfect star. 

Her. 

Hair bouncing with every step, curled and swirled, golden and luminous. Glossy pink lips part as she smiles. Rosy blushed cheeks and striking blue eyes, as vivid as the sky. Curved hourglass body and soft delicate hands. That’s what everyone sees… 

But no one notices when her smile falters, her laugh turns fake, her eyes fill with tears. No one watches as she turns away, knees wobble, hands shake. No one sees the part of her that she tries so hard to hide away, but I do. I watch, I observe, I am invisible. No one notices me. So I observe everyone. 

I see her face fall, ever so slightly, as her heart drops. I see her faint uncomfortable smile when people grab at her. I see her smoothing down her skirt, catching herself at every mirror, self-conscious. Just like me. She’s just like me. Except…

She's already got everything she's dreamt of. A perfect friend group, perfect popularity, a perfect life. Her fear is that maybe someday, one might come to notice the cracks in her supposed perfection. Maybe one day, someone might notice that no, she doesn’t do well at school, that no, she doesn't have a trustworthy friend group, that no, she doesn't even have a father. She isn't rich, she isn’t pretty, she isn't perfect. She’s nothing without popularity, she is nothing without makeup, she is nothing without followers. She crumbles, she trips, she falls. She cries, she hurts, she breaks. She tries, she fails, she hides. She is a human being. Capable of making mistakes and feeling bad. But no, no one can know that. Because at school, she is a shining star and everyone envies her. If she lets anything slip, a tear, a word, a secret, then, everything ends. She’s sure many people have dreamt of that day. She can’t let that happen. 

She yearns for better friends, kind loving ones that have your back always, those that wouldn’t care if you dressed pretty or put on a show, but then she’d be cast out of popularity. She aspires for higher grades, she wants to do her best at school, but it’s not cool to study. She desires a world where she wouldn’t have to prove to others she was worth it, and everyone would be treated equally and fair, but that’s never gonna happen, is it? 

I wish I could tell her that it’s okay to have flaws, to not be amazing every time. I wish I could comfort her in those moments of downfall and self-hatred and tell her she’s good enough. I wish I could let her know that it’s okay to cry sometimes, and everyone deserves to feel loved. I want to hold her, care for her, be there for her. 

But who am I, but a ghost to her eyes.

Tiny Ambitions - Anishka Subhawickrama Year 9

We were young then. When we came to the backyard, we knew our ambitions, hopes, and dreams. We knew what we longed to accomplish, and the journey of fulfilment that we would take. We knew who we aspired to be, and who we wanted to be. We withdrew and placed our small, symbolic tokens of hope inside a simple gingerbread tin, aspiring for our dreams to come true. As we shovelled masses of soil atop the shine of aluminium, we gently prayed to ourselves that our small hopes, would grow into a promising, fortunate future. Once the capsule was buried, we departed, going back to living regular lives, oblivious to our fortune. 

Years passed, and the backyard became overgrown with weeds, uncared and forgotten. After 26 years, we gathered for a reunion, and we began to dig out our miniature time capsule that we had planted more than 2 decades ago. When we found the tin, we carefully opened it. Inside, we saw an array of our miniature depictions of our past ambitions. Inside, there were tiny scribbles of fake certificates, small and artistic pencil drawings, and even a paper airplane.  

Our dreams had come true, but now how we anticipated. The scribbled certificates were not intended to be from university, but it was a diploma from a community college, exemplifying the hard work and determination it had taken to overcome obstacles and earn that degree. The small drawings were not intended to be actual paintings in a museum, yet they demonstrated the forms of creativity and expression that everyone, including our friendship group endured over the course of our individual careers. And the paper airplane was not a career as a pilot but actually a symbol of one of our members world trips. 

We closed the gingerbread tin and buried it again. Our journey of discovery had taken us on a path we could never have imagined. We learned that the most fulfilling career is the ones we never knew we would be interested in, that we don’t choose our path, the path chooses you; and most importantly, starting from something small and miniature can lead to big things.