Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[dancing phalanges]

okay i'd probably be cry if they made us base the creative off one of the unseen texts... it's going to be like writing a fanfic 😂 i wouldn't rule out the possibility of a textual stimulus - it would probably be a starting/ending sentence (i can't think of any more at the moment). or maybe specifying the form of the creative (definitely not out of the realm of possibility, it was like that in trials!) prepare for both, just in case :-)

best of luck with your hsc,
fantasticbeasts

hahah i didnt completely mean do a fanfic but more using the visual unseen if there is one like you would a normal unseen or if they take a sentence out of an unseen text. i just have a feeling a textual one is going to come up seeing its been visual 2 years in a row which would be way better as personally hate visual ones, much easier to obviously blend in textual ones as visual ones i prefer to interpret metaphorically but its hard to do obviously to the marker

[fantasticbeasts3]

hahah i didnt completely mean do a fanfic but more using the visual unseen if there is one like you would a normal unseen or if they take a sentence out of an unseen text. i just have a feeling a textual one is going to come up seeing its been visual 2 years in a row which would be way better as personally hate visual ones, much easier to obviously blend in textual ones as visual ones i prefer to interpret metaphorically but its hard to do obviously to the marker

yea, of course hahaha just in the case of basing it off a fiction extract! but yea for sure, visuals are easy to incorporate into your creative, but it's hard for the marker to see it :-) (or should it be ":-(")

[blasonduo]

Are you prepared to be disgusted with my creative writing???

In all seriousness, My creative writing sucks, and it always has sucked. It is the area which drops me from 86-87% down to an 80-81%. I think my best mark ever has been a 9/15 :/ I've always struggled with it, as I'm never too sure how on earth to improve it (teachers are limited)

In my creative writing, I have added multiple "italics" as shown in my comments and questions throughout the writing.

Creative WITH my comments

Spoiler

I swung around in my chair and leapt towards the door, today was the day."Is this a good way to start a creative writing? It doesn't really "grab" the attention of the reader" I lurched out of the room and inhaled the fresh, innocent morning air and watched the light of the world wake up from it’s slumber as I situated my panama hat "I wanted a hat to be placed on, but the word panama doesn't seem to roll off properly, but I didn't want to just call it a hat"to hide myself from its influence. I walked calmly down the street, trying to not draw attention to the salvaged emotion bubbling inside of me. My legs were trembling as if they’d never walked this stride before but I kept my pace; fast but steady, the weight of anticipation urged me to reach the airport as soon as possible. I knew this was excessive, pointless; the plane had a set time of arrival. Yet I couldn’t help being anxious, excited, itching for that time to be now. I had waited so long"Does this last part seem cliche?".

I smirked as I watched the trees majestically sway and dance in rhythm, distracting me of what’s the come, the arrival of the person who I would see so very soon"Again, I feel like this sentence is poorly written; too "lovey dovey" is that makes sense". The birds sang in harmony, praising and celebrating as if they were in my presence"I want birds to be apart of this, but this "as if they were in my presence" doesn't seem like the best of wording, how could I improve this?". Lost in my own vacant thoughts, I looked up to realise the airport upon the horizon. "Is this too sudden, seems forced to me"I enter the pristine, white, sunlit area, filled with people dashing around with a passion and a determination to explore the world around them. I pull out a crumpled, brown piece of paper and read “23” scrawled onto it, knowing that this was where I needed to be. As I walked, the bold red numbers on the billboards began to rise; 1, 2, 3 … "Is this proper writing? Am I allowed? If it effective?"As I continued, the hall began to fill, becoming congested until I was constantly brushing shoulders with society until I reached hallway 23, then everyone seemed to vanish."Again, is feel abrupt, and not well thought out, everyone did not "vanish" it was more meant to show his concentration on the situation, again, I don't know how to effectively portray this"

I stood in the middle of the corridor, my hands faced together as a horde of passengers began to slowly flood towards me. My eyes darted person to person, desperately looking for her, her glowing orange hair while not moving a muscle. "Is the description here needed?" The crowd began to wash over me"here I'm trying to portray society as symbolic, especially with water and the random nature of it, I know; I'm poor at conveying it", but I kept my confidence, watching like an eagle, silent as a grave,"these similies seem too generic, is this fine?" hoping for any indication. The crowd began to grunt and push at my presence, but I did not care, I could not care. However their presence vanished as fast as they approached, the corridor was once again….. Empty? "is this allowed?"I was confused, baffled, concerned. I attempted to call her, but she did not pick up. I concluded that I had forgotten the time of arrival, so I continued to stand, waiting. Wave after wave of other passengers washed a little more hope away from my tight grasp, my legs screamed to give up, but my mind was determined, I continued to hope. "The whole last two sentences seem to be rushed, do you get that vibe? If so, how do I improve it?"
But she did not arrive. "I thought this was actually good?........ is it?"

The room began to darken and my head fell heavily, all hope had been lost. I turned back to exit the building, once full of emotions, now barren, I'm trying to link society as a whole to him, as he felt more "human", he'd be literally and metaphorically closer to society, again, was this ineffective?"the walls greyed, hiding their once found beauty. The sun hid its influence, The world lost its enchantment. I exited the airport and was greeted by a chilling gust of wind mocking my vulnerability as I inhaled sharply trying to expel my disappointments. The trees began to mock me as their leaves whispered about my demise while the birds, did not dare mutter a word as my shoulders hung low with the burden as the final ray of life left my world."I was trying to give light, this symbol that represented his emotions? Heh, I might be shallow in the analysis here"I lurched towards my door and slumped back into my chair. Many thoughts and questions flashed through my mind as I fell my head into my hands. What went wrong? I pulled out my phone and scrolled through our texts, the glorious texts and I remembered the good times, "This seems like filler to me, even though it wasn't"but this only filled me with more hopelessness. I sunk down, dejected and defeated, tomorrow is now just another day."This ending seems too sudden :/"

Creative WITHOUT my comments

Spoiler

I swung around in my chair and leapt towards the door, today was the day. I lurched out of the room and inhaled the fresh, innocent morning air and watched the light of the world wake up from its slumber as I situated my panama hat to hide myself from its influence. I walked calmly down the street, trying to not draw attention to the salvaged emotion bubbling inside of me. My legs were trembling as if they’d never walked this stride before but I kept my pace; fast but steady, the weight of anticipation urged me to reach the airport as soon as possible. I knew this was excessive, pointless; the plane had a set time of arrival. Yet I couldn’t help being anxious, excited, itching for that time to be now. I had waited so long.

I smirked as I watched the trees majestically sway and dance in rhythm, distracting me of what’s the come, the arrival of the person who I would see so very soon. The birds sang in harmony, praising and celebrating as if they were in my presence. Lost in my own vacant thoughts, I looked up to realise the airport upon the horizon. I enter the pristine, white, sunlit area, filled with people dashing around with a passion and a determination to explore the world around them. I pull out a crumpled, brown piece of paper and read “23” scrawled onto it, knowing that this was where I needed to be. As I walked, the bold red numbers on the billboards began to rise; 1, 2, 3 … As I continued, the hall began to fill, becoming congested until I was constantly brushing shoulders with society until I reached hallway 23, then everyone seemed to vanish.

I stood in the middle of the corridor, my hands viced together as a horde of passengers began to slowly flood towards me. My eyes darted person to person, desperately looking for her, her glowing orange hair while not moving a muscle.  The crowd began to wash over me, but I kept my confidence, watching like an eagle, silent as a grave, hoping for any indication. The crowd began to grunt and push at my presence, but I did not care, I could not care. However their presence vanished as fast as they approached, the corridor was once again….. Empty? I was confused, baffled, concerned. I attempted to call her, but she did not pick up. I concluded that I had forgotten the time of arrival, so I continued to stand, waiting. Wave after wave of other passengers washed a little more hope away from my tight grasp, my legs screamed to give up, but my mind was determined, I continued to hope.
But she did not arrive.

The room began to darken and my head fell heavily, all hope had been lost. I turned back to exit the building, once full of emotions, now barren, the walls greyed, hiding their once found beauty. The sun hid its influence, The world lost its enchantment. I exited the airport and was greeted by a chilling gust of wind mocking my vulnerability as I inhaled sharply trying to expel my disappointments. The trees began to mock me as their leaves whispered about my demise while the birds, did not dare mutter a word as my shoulders hung low with the burden as the final ray of life left my world.I lurched towards my door and slumped back into my chair. Many thoughts and questions flashed through my mind as I fell my head into my hands. What went wrong? I pulled out my phone and scrolled through our texts, the glorious texts and I remembered the good times, but this only filled me with more hopelessness. I sunk down, dejected and defeated, tomorrow is now just another day.

Overall, I attempted to give symbols and motifs, but they might be too shallow.

Also, My storyline as a whole, nothing really progressess, its a story that just shows a discovery of the presence of nothing, and then his reaction to it, how drastic will my marks drop due to this.

Also, my Creative currently is very short, what are some things I could add to bring up this word count?

Finally, I feel like there is no "resolution" and I've been told that marks can be lost, is my ending really that bad?

Also my writing as a whole, how is it? how Poorly am I communicating current events? Is my style right?

Thank you so much

[taylorlucy]

Hi! This isn't a question about actual marking (I'm sure there's somewhere better on the forums for me to post this question) but I'm writing my story in 2 parts, ie. 2 smaller stories about the same event, from different perspectives. When I'm moving from the first part to the second, what is the best way to signal this transition? Would a simple line between the paragraphs do, or would that make it seem like I'm restarting my story because I wasn't happy with the first part? Maybe a dotted line, or a wavy line? I'm sure I'm overthinking it but I really don't know what to choose. Thanks!

[elysepopplewell]

Hey guys, quick question for the Paper 1 creative. It's been 2 visual stimulus' in a row for 2015 and 2016 on discovery so, logically should we be preparing more for a textual stimulus? Also, do you think NESA could completely screw everyone over by making us base the creative off one of the unseen texts or images? Thanks

Hey there! When it comes to English papers - my advice is to not try and find logic in the patterns. I think there's merit for other papers, but English doesn't seem to follow that same vein. So I'd be preparing equally for a textual stimulus as I would for a visual stimulus.

As for the second part - yes they could. I haven't considered that they will, but surely there's nothing stopping them from doing that other than that it would probably be very limiting in terms of the diversity of responses they'd receive, especially considering lately they've been providing a few stimulus options - which I'd suggest is so they can receive a variety of responses and students of various skill levels (this includes standard and advanced, remember), can access the paper.

[bun00]

Heyy!
would i be able to put my creative writing on here, not to get marked but maybe for some suggestions on how i could adapt it to a question that requires a discovery that emerges from a process of deliberate and careful planning? or will i still need 50 posts?
thankyou! and ATB

Spoiler

Nothing Ever Mattered to Me

Nothing ever mattered to me. I’d followed the same jaded steps down the bright cold walks of Broadway. Down to that same dusty, 60’s built shop at the station stairs that was no more than a “shabby counter with a few smokes underneath” as he used to call it
.
***
My father instilled these words into me when I lived my ‘daddy’s boy’ life.
“Son, you’ve a big road ahead and you’ll travel it solo one day.”
He never vacated his thoughts of my life ahead, he’d told me that his life was nothing special and never will be, he’d told me I’d probably reject my parents as I grew older, just because he did. This was all, only for me to discover the culmination of his life, and it was as he said…nothing special. And now I live my own life…
***

Through the twelve uneventful years consumed in the monotonous ritual of passing a box or two to a stranger, or sometimes a familiar face, on a daily basis. I’d squint through the flashing black and orange “CTC George St” above me that became engrained in my eyes.

I’d peer through to the ever-bustling city street which always appeared to be a cosmopolitan gathering. It was full of busy men’s feet, who rushed with briefcases and smartphones, while others were going for their morning jog before yet another tedious day in the office. I saw some less active in the distance who’d occupy their day with clenching their hand-drawn “money please!” sign and only uplift their heads to the occasional tinkle of a coin in their basket. It never seemed strange to me that although they felt so helpless, I felt no obligation to help them. It never seemed strange that as business men rushed by with slick haircuts, grey suit jackets and a shining watch that only a rich man wears, they felt no obligation to offer any more than droplets flicked from their striding shoes as they raced to “Platform 6 departing for all stops to Mascot”.

Frank, a face I knew as well as a brother. I’d see him scrambling through the crowds around 7:45, just before his 8am InterCity, change for Wynyard. He’d take his box with no more than a “G’day mate I’ll just take one today” and was swept back into the humming sea of bodies.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the masses of people became irregular. The scene evolved into mothers shopping, buskers, young refugees appearing in the middle of the walkway. The held an advertisement with directions to a shop that only they didn’t realise was the opposite direction to the arrow. My attention to detail baffled me, I was a walking contradiction. The more I detailed them, the more insignificant they were to me.

I saw the occasional fall on the slippery pavement in front of my store. I saw mothers scolding their children fruitlessly. I saw the fights of street kids and young boys stealing on the sly. But nothing ever mattered to me. As long as my till overflowed at the end of the day, I wasn’t turned in my sleep about the things I saw on the streets, nor did I worry about the deathly diseases my product created. Supposedly ‘confronting’ signs were plastered over the billboards, buses and taxis with “cigarettes are eating you alive” - blown up pictures of various ‘body parts’ - they looked more like a year eight dissection science lesson. But I wasn’t confronted by them, nothing ever mattered to me. The world had forsaken me as a child. My parents, degenerates of society, abandoned me when I was only eight years old. I pilfered, lied and deceived to survive. Society unleashed a dark veil that obscured my suffering…nobody cared. Shame never blanketed me. There was not an iota of regret in what I did for a living. I was just giving back to society what they gave me…contempt and indifference.

That day was not meant to be different, that day was not meant to bring anything exciting or new, and it didn’t.

I watched the dribs and drabs of people sightseeing, shopping, begging, busking, and then I was met…with change.

That dreary mundane day maybe was meant to be different. Through the crowds was a small, forlorn girl no more than the tender age of ten. She leant against the cold sandstone wall, no one to talk to, no one to keep her warm, no one to acknowledge her existence. Her undone, rumpled hair fell over her pale face while her glassy blue eyes held a stiff gaze at the pavement. She was ‘clothed’ in scuffed sparkly sandals and a pink dress that could have fitted another one of her inside. Every so often she’d lift her eyes and pan over the people, cars and shop names only to find no hope or comfort, she’d drop her head again. After what seemed like fifteen dreamy minutes of me watching her every action, which could be better described as inaction, her eyes rose and were captured by the black and orange flashing above me. Her face grew colour, her eyes sparkled, her posture was straightened, head high she began her stroll toward my counter. Her eyes could not be stolen from the flashing sign above me and her step was unbroken. Although she was so close and so determined, her eyes never met mine at the counter.

I’d never had a customer so near yet so far. Curiosity pierced my being, who was this customer? I’d had regulars and irregulars, but none were less than twenty, none were less than 5 ft, none wore little pink dresses and scuffed sparkly sandals.

That child…was ten.

Age ten’s were not supposed to brighten up when they saw the “CTC” sign, only overloaded adults. Who’d taught her that “cigarettes relieve stress”? Where were her parents?

But…I’d thought…nothing ever mattered to me?

Maybe something did matter? I’d never allowed myself to be vulnerable to my surroundings, what was this weakness that was creeping inside me? I was challenging myself, this young girl evoked curiosity within me. Some long-forgotten gentleness. Some flickering of compassion.

It was then that I reached for the screeching shutter to segregate her young life from her journey to death. I flicked out the dusty light above the counter, pulled the door of that twelve year “nothing ever mattered to me” life and deadlocked it behind me.

It was then that I realised “Every story has an end, but in life every ending is just a new beginning”.

It was her life that changed mine, it was her journey that provoked my new beginning. I silently thanked her.

With the takings in my pocket, less the notes I’d put in hers, I mounted the stairs and understood…

Something mattered to me.

[jamonwindeyer]

Heyy!
would i be able to put my creative writing on here, not to get marked but maybe for some suggestions on how i could adapt it to a question that requires a discovery that emerges from a process of deliberate and careful planning? or will i still need 50 posts?
thankyou! and ATB

Normally El or I would be happy to have a skim, but with the amount of marking we've got to do at the moment we'll leave it to our awesome community to give you a few suggestions - And you definitely don't need a post count for that

[biffi023]

Heyy!
would i be able to put my creative writing on here, not to get marked but maybe for some suggestions on how i could adapt it to a question that requires a discovery that emerges from a process of deliberate and careful planning? or will i still need 50 posts?
thankyou! and ATB

Spoiler

Nothing Ever Mattered to Me

Nothing ever mattered to me. I’d followed the same jaded steps down the bright cold walks of Broadway. Down to that same dusty, 60’s built shop at the station stairs that was no more than a “shabby counter with a few smokes underneath” as he used to call it
.
***
My father instilled these words into me when I lived my ‘daddy’s boy’ life.
“Son, you’ve a big road ahead and you’ll travel it solo one day.”
He never vacated his thoughts of my life ahead, he’d told me that his life was nothing special and never will be, he’d told me I’d probably reject my parents as I grew older, just because he did. This was all, only for me to discover the culmination of his life, and it was as he said…nothing special. And now I live my own life…
***

Through the twelve uneventful years consumed in the monotonous ritual of passing a box or two to a stranger, or sometimes a familiar face, on a daily basis. I’d squint through the flashing black and orange “CTC George St” above me that became engrained in my eyes.

I’d peer through to the ever-bustling city street which always appeared to be a cosmopolitan gathering. It was full of busy men’s feet, who rushed with briefcases and smartphones, while others were going for their morning jog before yet another tedious day in the office. I saw some less active in the distance who’d occupy their day with clenching their hand-drawn “money please!” sign and only uplift their heads to the occasional tinkle of a coin in their basket. It never seemed strange to me that although they felt so helpless, I felt no obligation to help them. It never seemed strange that as business men rushed by with slick haircuts, grey suit jackets and a shining watch that only a rich man wears, they felt no obligation to offer any more than droplets flicked from their striding shoes as they raced to “Platform 6 departing for all stops to Mascot”.

Frank, a face I knew as well as a brother. I’d see him scrambling through the crowds around 7:45, just before his 8am InterCity, change for Wynyard. He’d take his box with no more than a “G’day mate I’ll just take one today” and was swept back into the humming sea of bodies.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the masses of people became irregular. The scene evolved into mothers shopping, buskers, young refugees appearing in the middle of the walkway. The held an advertisement with directions to a shop that only they didn’t realise was the opposite direction to the arrow. My attention to detail baffled me, I was a walking contradiction. The more I detailed them, the more insignificant they were to me.

I saw the occasional fall on the slippery pavement in front of my store. I saw mothers scolding their children fruitlessly. I saw the fights of street kids and young boys stealing on the sly. But nothing ever mattered to me. As long as my till overflowed at the end of the day, I wasn’t turned in my sleep about the things I saw on the streets, nor did I worry about the deathly diseases my product created. Supposedly ‘confronting’ signs were plastered over the billboards, buses and taxis with “cigarettes are eating you alive” - blown up pictures of various ‘body parts’ - they looked more like a year eight dissection science lesson. But I wasn’t confronted by them, nothing ever mattered to me. The world had forsaken me as a child. My parents, degenerates of society, abandoned me when I was only eight years old. I pilfered, lied and deceived to survive. Society unleashed a dark veil that obscured my suffering…nobody cared. Shame never blanketed me. There was not an iota of regret in what I did for a living. I was just giving back to society what they gave me…contempt and indifference.

That day was not meant to be different, that day was not meant to bring anything exciting or new, and it didn’t.

I watched the dribs and drabs of people sightseeing, shopping, begging, busking, and then I was met…with change.

That dreary mundane day maybe was meant to be different. Through the crowds was a small, forlorn girl no more than the tender age of ten. She leant against the cold sandstone wall, no one to talk to, no one to keep her warm, no one to acknowledge her existence. Her undone, rumpled hair fell over her pale face while her glassy blue eyes held a stiff gaze at the pavement. She was ‘clothed’ in scuffed sparkly sandals and a pink dress that could have fitted another one of her inside. Every so often she’d lift her eyes and pan over the people, cars and shop names only to find no hope or comfort, she’d drop her head again. After what seemed like fifteen dreamy minutes of me watching her every action, which could be better described as inaction, her eyes rose and were captured by the black and orange flashing above me. Her face grew colour, her eyes sparkled, her posture was straightened, head high she began her stroll toward my counter. Her eyes could not be stolen from the flashing sign above me and her step was unbroken. Although she was so close and so determined, her eyes never met mine at the counter.

I’d never had a customer so near yet so far. Curiosity pierced my being, who was this customer? I’d had regulars and irregulars, but none were less than twenty, none were less than 5 ft, none wore little pink dresses and scuffed sparkly sandals.

That child…was ten.

Age ten’s were not supposed to brighten up when they saw the “CTC” sign, only overloaded adults. Who’d taught her that “cigarettes relieve stress”? Where were her parents?

But…I’d thought…nothing ever mattered to me?

Maybe something did matter? I’d never allowed myself to be vulnerable to my surroundings, what was this weakness that was creeping inside me? I was challenging myself, this young girl evoked curiosity within me. Some long-forgotten gentleness. Some flickering of compassion.

It was then that I reached for the screeching shutter to segregate her young life from her journey to death. I flicked out the dusty light above the counter, pulled the door of that twelve year “nothing ever mattered to me” life and deadlocked it behind me.

It was then that I realised “Every story has an end, but in life every ending is just a new beginning”.

It was her life that changed mine, it was her journey that provoked my new beginning. I silently thanked her.

With the takings in my pocket, less the notes I’d put in hers, I mounted the stairs and understood…

Something mattered to me.

hey!.. nice narrative btw! umm.... i can't really help.. will read it again and think about it!
its true tho.. thats a hard point to relate creatives to! 
any ideas for mine while ur at it wld be MA bun..?

[bun00]

hey!.. nice narrative btw! umm.... i can't really help.. will read it again and think about it!
its true tho.. thats a hard point to relate creatives to! 
any ideas for mine while ur at it wld be MA bun..?

hey thanks
i know it's so true!! like when a story is totally about unexpectedness how do u make it sound planned?!?!?! any advice would be MA!
hmm nah not atm sorry yours is similar to mine as in u jst cant make it planned!! i'll keep thinking but
ATB

[av-angie-er]

Hi, I'd be extremely grateful for any advice you could offer for my creative piece. Most critical feedback I've received had addressed overwriting and a confusing plot, so if you could suggest ways to fix these problems in particular, that'd be amazing! Thanks in advance

Spoiler

17 November 2010

My dearest daughter,

Sometimes, if I’m paying attention, I’ll see little pieces of her in you.

A sigh of tingling air scatters intricate frost patterns on the glass. Your small fingers wipes away a circle of winter’s breath from the pane to reveal a snow-blanketed town and nothing but a wonderful shade of white for miles into the distance.

Fiddling with the latch and sliding the window open, you inhale a gust of frigid oxygen, streaming through your red hair in its purest form. As a soft tinge of pink perfuses across your cheeks and the tip of your nose, you marvel at the thought of nothing but open ice and snow, all for you to explore.

In my contemplation of closing the window or letting you admire the view, I recall your mother’s quiet smile on that first morning.

Temperatures reached all time lows in the winter of 2007, yet she felt a warm tingling sensation on that morning and most mornings after.

“I don’t know what it is, but- but it’s like electric ecstasy whirling around my chest,” she hummed when I asked why she was smiling, “like a sort of enlivening warmth…”

To my dismay, nothing could ever translate her impulsive sentimentality into terms that I understood. Maybe she’s coming down with something, I thought, before returning to my paperwork while she blissfully watched the morning monotony unfold from the front porch.

“Sure, just come in soon, honey. You’re going to catch a cold.” I mumbled, reaching to draw the window shut before she suddenly turned on her heels to face me.

“You’re going to be a great father, Truman” she remarked, round frost-coated glasses magnifying excitement in her olive green eyes.

The polished blueprint of my life seemed suddenly reduced to ashes. I analysed the pace of her breathing, the slight upward curl of her lips, the way that she anxiously fiddled with the ends of her vibrant red hair – all the symptoms of an overwhelming happiness.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said,” she chuckled lightly, “you are going to be a great father!”

She repeated this reassurance for months, the words always laced with a sincerity that echoed her innately maternal compassion. I had trouble believing it, but her white-hot positivity was a kindness nonetheless. Her glowing, perhaps delusional, confidence may have even outshone my uncertainty at times. That’s simply how infectiously immune she was to my defeatist attitude. Hence the magnitude of the unexpected torment when she suddenly fell ill.
The word ‘eclampsia’ was a sudden burst of electric light that drowned out the rest of the doctor’s careful words into empty static. The medical statistics and subsequent uncertainties were the ravenous boom. And nothing - not a million self-care brochures or late-night Google searches - could conquer the helplessness and confusion that clouded your mother’s once-beaming sense of hope.

The mattress burned cold when she woke up each morning. Remnants of lucid nightmares would hang from her eyes as she adjusted to the synthetic hospital room glow. The scent of crisp sterility seeped into the bleak, white walls that confined her to disinfected bed sheets and non-solid foods for 2 eternal months. As if forgetting to nurture a flame before it dissipated into smoke, I watched as she declined rapidly, to the point where her brilliant smile was just a hazy memory with fading warmth. Your mother's body recovered in slow, turbulent progression after you were born, but what is there to do when your soul is poisoned?

You came to us 10 weeks too soon.

Suddenly the hospital became home. Every morning I would visit you. The neonatal intensive care unit that they kept you in was another world to your mother's hospital room. A kaleidoscope of delicate colours dispersed against anesthetic whites. The floral curtains were always spread, allowing sunlight to caress your skin in gentle Summer zephyr. On the best days you would hold my finger in your hand through a hole in the side of the incubator. You were, you are, phosphorescent, my dear. But oh, how you made me melt. After a cherished hour of watching you thrive, hanging onto life by a dozen winding tubes, I’d pry myself away to a part-time job at a nearby grocery store. A three-minute walk from the hospital through winding alleyways, often under callous rain.

And then every night, stumbling against the pavement in aching exhaustion, I would visit your mother.

"Lucille"

Meaning light, a French variation of Lucy. Your mother whispered it to me one night, squeezing my hand delicately with a kind smile that betrayed the melancholia in her eyes. Stroking the red hair that draped messily over her pale, porcelain skin, I breathed a shaky "okay” and said nothing more.

At first, I blamed myself for her death. Not eclampsia. Not postpartum depression. Not an intentional lithium overdose. Refusing to accept the bitter truth, I wondered; if I had somehow saw on that first morning how her last night would end, would I have been able to save her?

But even as I lost her, I found you. And I know now that I was the one needing to be saved.

I was the one trapped inside an isolated eternal winter of my own making. But ice melts, and so too do bittersweet delusions of security. She saved me from a dull, purposeless, comfortable existence simply by bringing me out into the world. By giving me the brightest sunshine. The light of my life.

I see so much of her in you.

“I’m sorry, Pa.” you mumble as the thermometer beeps softly and I place the warm cloth on your forehead.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll play outside together for as long as you’d like after you feel better. Say goodnight to your Mama, Lu.” I gesture towards the picture on the bedside table.

“Goodnight, Mama” you hum, revealing a smile identical to that of the woman in the photo – one that is glowing, kind and procures an enlivening warmth.

I do adore you, Lucille.

Love always,
Dad

[Mathew587]

Hey there!! Happy to sit down and read this

Spoiler

Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to be you, the hero of the Manhattan Project, the star on their spangled banner. Absorbed in your scattered sketches and sheets of calculations, you’re consumed by your attempts to defeat the enemy, to build a weapon deadlier than the atomic bomb. And what better way than destroying commies, hey?


Sometimes I think of you and wonder what it’s like to be a murderer.


Once upon a time, not so long ago, a desperate nation dropped two bombs on another. We all know how this story ends.


Cracking your neck, you recalculate the ionisation power required to ignite the fusion fuel, carefully plotting deaths like the madman we all know you are. I’ve seen a lot of them in my time, but you, rational, intelligent you, sipping your Tang frightened or frightens* me more than a psychopath.

 (It was war, they excuse it as a one-off. It’s humanity, I reply. You can’t trust them)

Extension: I hope you make a mistake and give up. I hope that you change your mind and give up. I hope the world ends before you end it's because you don’t want to be death, the destroyer of the world. Trust me. I pray and pray, but God doesn’t exist much nowadays. People have better reasons to die than religion.

Whistling Ain’t I Right, you scribble the last lines and let your shaking hands drop the pen. The numbers don’t make sense to me, but I can tell by your wide-eyed grin that you did it.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a hydrogen bomb, one more powerful than the atomic bomb, one without fissione that’s just going to make more work for me. I’ve already overworked and understaffed.

(One death, two deaths, what more is another million? Tell me, have you ever seen a corpse?)

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I can’t! You’re going to end the world and I’m the only one who cares.

And they say Death is heartless. I'll add at this point that I've read everything out loud so far to make sure that your grammar is stopping and starting the story in the flow that you want. So far, VERY good!

***
As you cradle the papers to your chest, your smile slowly combusts into a cheer. Months of testing. Mocking smiles from the other scientists. Failure after failure. It all paid off! You have to tell Eva.

Throwing open the door, you skid to a halt behind her silhouette, illuminated by a candle stub. Eva’s reading glasses slip from her exasperated sigh, as she reads the papers. You pity her- small print is the bane of your life as well.

You scan the article she’s reading, grinning at the photo of the mushroom cloud. You’ll make that look like a peace pipe. “Darling, I didn’t know…” you read, you like to do things besides your hair. “You like politics.” This sentence here, I just don't think I'm reading it the way you intended. It's almost like that middle bit there, the part outside of the quotation marks, is part of the quote? and I'm not sure if it's being read from the paper of it these are the words the person is saying? I think the thing that makes me think it's on the paper is, "you read," but then the "you like politics" is mixing the voice of the person and the narration and it's just not quite clear for me.

Eva starts, covering the paper with her body.  Extension: After kind John Smith next door got taken away by the Committee, you’ve both been more jumpy, more frown lines decorating your foreheads. But you have nothing to fear, making bombs is not un-American at all. *shudders* YES. THIS.

Taking her hand, you laugh “We can have conversations again.”

She loosens her shoulders, smile flickering like a candle in the wind. It’s nothing like the steady glow of the girl you married and you wonder where she went. “I don’t think we share the same views.”

You kneel in front of her, “Try me, Eva.” You miss her wince- you’ve been forgetting since your new job that she’s your ‘Evie’. You’ve been ignoring a lot about her- her new bouffant, her pretty dress, her calls for dinner.

And maybe thinking about all of this, she spits out, “I think the Americans are murderers for the Japanese bombings.”

Murderer- you a murderer? She’s gone mad. This italicised bit can be stronger, I think. I'm not sure about the exact way you're intending for me to read this.

Extension: Eva continues, her words more blazing than the flames. “I don’t think communists are bad. For god’s sake, I’m a communist! I don’t want to end American society. I think the only bad people out there are our government.”

“Those murderers went to Hiroshima under the guise of freeing Western democracy. Was our democracy worth the deaths of innocent kids? What did they ever do to us? What did the civilians do?” Eva’s eyes flash and her bitter curses start echoing in your mind.  Murderer.

“And you know what’s really tragic? They’re planning another set of bombings. Bigger and better! Do they know what they’re doing?” Extinguished, she stops, bringing her hand to her mouth. “I think a lot of terrible things.”

“They didn’t kill anyone directly,” you whisper, fixating your eyes on her wedding ring.  What if she knew that your high-earning fancy job in the city, the one that paid for her pretty dresses and ring, was earned by the blood of innocents?

Eva scoffs, and you wonder when the sweet housewife you married left. Did she ever exist? I love this bit. I like that it's not WHERE is she, but just recognises she has left by wondering WHEN - it shows a preoccupation of the husband for a long time.

“The bombs didn’t magically transport themselves. People dropped it. People created it. Nothing is made evil. People- I don’t know if you can call those scum humans really-make things evil.”

She quietens, quivering in the vulnerable way fire does when it’s burnt out.  “Are you going to call the Committee on me?” You shake your head, knees giving out, and collapse into the seat next to her. She flinches, perhaps disgusted by the blood surrounding you. “I’ll bring your dinner.”

Staring in silence at the food, you tremblingly hold your gravy filled spoon above the peas.
Over Japan, an aircraft had held the bombs above the people.
Somewhere, someday, someone’s going to do the same with your hydrogen bomb. OMLLLL YESSS. Love this imagery - so domestic, yet so global.

You drop it. They drop the bomb. They’re going to drop the bomb.
The peas are covered. The people are buried. They’re going to die.
By your hands. By your hands. By your hands.

Is that tomato or blood on your hands? Just a small thing which I'll leave up to you, I'd put a comma after "blood" so the "on your hands" rings with greater salience to tie into the repetition of "by your hands" above.

***
At night, you glower at the ceiling, uncomfortable in your soft bed. Thoughts of the bomb, your bomb, run through your nightmares. You don’t know what it felt like, of course, you’re not dead. But it comes alive whenever you close your eyes. Hot and blinding, red as blood. Black and cold, a silent killer. Explosive. Screams. Corpses. Dead by your hands.
 
Is this what it feels to be a murderer?

No. NO! You scream into your duvet and struggle to free yourself from the blankets, nearly tripping over the bedside table.
 
Eva furrows her brows, “What’s wrong?” Killer.
 
You bite your lip, “Just have to do something.” Slaughterer.

Walking into your study, you run a hand through your hair and find the blueprints again, examining it under the candlelight. Hours and hours of dedication, you’ve spent so long on it. It’s such a pity. You clutch the sheets, the words wrapping themselves around your fingers, tethering you. Murderer.

The flames burn and you wonder if all those people you killed burned as well. Closing your eyes, you let the candle digest your recipe for death and watch the ashes fall for the last time.


***

On the other side of the world, I let out a sob as the familiar twinges of pain, the suffering of souls you were going to create, finally leave. The girl I was waiting for straightens her crying mother’s kimono and kisses her goodbye, attempting to memorise every touch, every glance. As she takes my hand, I thank you for not making more people die like she did.


Extension: (Once the country asked you to do something and you did the right thing brilliantly. Thank you for not letting it break you.)

Sometimes, I think of you and wonder what’s it like to be a hero.

Wonderful. Brilliant. Incredible.

How do I articulate how much I enjoy this piece? It's clean AF. I read it verbally to make sure it lulled and sung the way it should, and it did. The wording is JUST enough every time - crisp, and clean, and never too much. You've thought so carefully about the techniques, I can see it especially in the gravy/bomb scenario. Who would've thought??

In terms of plot, I love love love the ending. The two people, so significantly connected, but never meet. The only thing that I think we could probably do away with in order to give the reader a little more work to do, a little more respect for their ability to put the pieces together, is the holiday thing.

You go back to bed and kiss your wife for the first time in months. “You looked beautiful today, Evie.” She gapes at you, because you finally remembered. Wrapping an arm around her, you smile, “Let’s go on a holiday.”

Evie laughs but her eyes sparkle in agreement.
 
Tomorrow you’ll tell your employers it’s impossible and ignore your colleagues’ taunts at the fact the wonder-boy couldn’t do it. You’ll finally use up that vacation on your paycheck and take Evie away for a weekend.
 
A break will do you both good.

This here, could in fact just be, "You went to sleep that night in debt to Evie. You nodded off thinking about the taunts of your employers when you tell them it's impossible, and yes, even the wonder-boy himself couldn't do it. So nobody could."

Sometttthing like this, brings all of the above into just two sentences and it leaves stuff to the imagination. So because we look at Evie with debt and gratitude, the reader can assume that Evie has swayed his opinion. This is then confirmed in a very short manner in the next sentence, rather than leaving the "oh my god he changed his mind" experience of the reader as an experience of a few sentences, distracted by a holiday. I think it's more cutting this way. Then, moving on to the person in Japan - BRILLIANT. The You + I of the story is wonderful. A very clever technique. The discovery is strong, and it works on multiple layers at multiple points.

In terms of Extension - you've also ticked all the boxes. Ways of thinking, yes. The religion at the beginning is subtle but strong, the war, the gender roles, the science, the world order - it all works together so seamlessly. Are you extending on this version for extension or just presenting it like this?

For discovery - this is strong, cutting, very clean, and I would surely give this a band 6, hinging on the fact that it is developed to the stimulus of course!

The only problem is that no one in the Manhattan project except a handful actually knew what they were working on But i guess the markers will probs overlook that haha

[justwannawish]

The only problem is that no one in the Manhattan project except a handful actually knew what they were working on But i guess the markers will probs overlook that haha

Well, let's take artistic license and hope the markers ignore that, or they assume he's part of the handful. I mean they have a lot of works to mark  , surely this one isn't that important in their eyes and can be read without overthinking....

Hello! I'm SO sorry this took so long - I got your PM over the weekend when the lectures were happening but knew I wouldn't have a quick chance to jump on the forums until today (and admittedly - I planned to give more time than I actually have). I didn't realise the Extension pieces were for the Extension creative - I just thought they were edits. So this makes more sense now! haha. I'd leave the first one in and take the second two out - especially the communism one. It's a nice touch for extension but for AOS it just gives another nugget of info that will possibly add to it all being too much.

I think your adjustment of the goodnight to Evie thing is much better. Very fluid!

I'm glad this gave you a confidence boost - I definitely think it's a great creative and is very deserving of high marks! The narrative structure through the narrational voice is most complex yet smooth and I definitely think that deserves applause!

Thank you once again for all your help (we seem to miss each other every time, I didn't even know you replied!)
Do the clarifications I made make sense in your mind now, or do you think I still need more adjustment?

I've also made another comment about how to integrate aspects of the syllabus into the creative, and I'll just copy it below for your reference:


First time discovery: finding the bomb, changing his perception
Rediscovering something lost, concealed or forgotten: not really sure if it counts, but indirectly, a reconnection with his wife?
Sudden or unexpected: didn't expect Evie to come up with such a confronting argument that shook the foundations of his assumptions
Deliberate planning: the bomb was one created out of his personal wonder and necessity from the government
Emotional, spiritual: his realisation of the damage the bomb caused
Creative and intellectual: not sure about these ones either
Confronting and provocative: hope that's apparent
New understandings and renewed perceptions of ourselves and others: not sure of this is communicated very well either
Personal, cultural, historical, social contexts: historical and social, I would say yes? Not sure about personal and cultural
Far reaching and transformative for the individual and broader society: the ending scene with the Japanese girl, and I think it was implicitly threaded throughout the piece
Ramifications: was the discovery and his own feelings about it enough to suit this dotpoint
Different perspectives/worth can be reassessed over time: Evie vs Protagonist at the start, protagonist throughout the piece
Challenge/affirm widely held assumptions and beliefs about aspects of human experience and the world: I feel like I'm being biased towards this but I find myself agreeing haha
New discoveries about: place-not at all, people-vaguely yes, relationships- wife and husband??, societies-American society in the 1950s was a bad place for one's conscience, events-not sure about this either
Generate new ideas: morals vs societal aims,

Do you have any ideas of what this work suits in terms of HSC questions and what it needs to be heavily adjusted to answer? I've tried breaking it down above but am always interested in your feedback

[danii444]

Hey guys Creative writing is a weak point of mine, and I received a bad mark in trials for this section. Teachers give me feedback but I don’t know how to apply it. If I could receive feedback and improvements ASAP that would be greatly appreciated!!
—
If you ask Victoria, it was yesterday. Every day, a baby is born, someone dies. However, not every day, do natural disasters occur.
***
Victoria lived in a nuclear family. Together they resided in a double-story, utopian-like modern house in a wealthy suburb, overlooking the tranquil view of the beach across the road. Victoria constantly begged her parents for the latest technology and often took her material possessions for granted; having her very own plasma screen, a king-sized bed, the latest iPhone and still desired more.

It was an ordinary Monday morning. Victoria was tired as ever with racoon-like eyes, as she was sleep deprived, due to a long night of studying, but managed to rise from her crumpled blankets as her mum exclaimed “Breakfast is ready!”

Her morning came to consciousness as she wearily walked down the stairs and made her way to the breakfast table, where her much-needed cup of hot coffee and toast lay in front of her on the white, glossy kitchen countertop. The family was enjoying their breakfast. When abruptly without any warning…

BOOM! A noise louder than thunder struck immediately. The ground made slight movements, which rapidly became violent. It started to shake confrontationally as though it were a beating drum in a vigorous tempo. The table wobbled harshly, and her hot coffee spilt over the countertop. Victoria’s mum noticed the lamp above their heads was swinging side to side like a pendulum, as she shouted “Earthquake!”

Fear hit Victoria like lightning, as a surge of horror rushed through her veins.  Victoria, her Mum, Dad and her younger brother darted to crouch under the dinner table. They held each other tightly, curled up in a foetal position, while gripping onto the table legs for life. Their screams were lost under the deafening noise of the underground rumbling. A series of multiple frightening sounds continued…

BANG! As the bookshelf and all its contents fell flat onto the timber floor.

Seconds later an indefinable sound preceded, the road splitting in half, and trees snapping simultaneously.

SHATTER! As the glass vase on the dinner table and the pictures from the walls fell, which broke into a million pieces.

Paralysing terror overwhelmed her, causing her palms to sweat profusely, perspiration to drip from her forehead and hyperventilate. She endured a fear she had never experienced before. Victoria’s heart was pounding out of her chest as a wave emotion engulfed her. Fear. Worry. Panic. Just the thought of the house imploding intensely unnerved her, where she and her family may perish in the landslide of rubble and never see daylight.

Finally, the earthquake ceased. Wreckage, chaos, but the house still stands and all four were still alive. Covered in a layer of dust, Victoria and her family hurriedly rushed outside for fear that the house might still come crashing down on them.

The wreckage that stood before Victoria’s eyes was utterly devastating. The homes in their street were damaged; some had even collapsed, possibly trapping people underneath the heavy rough rubble. Roads were cracked, liquid was spilling out of gutters, huge dust clouds drifted in the sky, uprooted and snapped trees were drooping, and ambulance sirens were constantly overheard in the distance. People were darting out of their homes. Some were stunned, some crying, some injured. Tears rolled down people’s faces. Tears for all that was lost, the pain, the melancholy, the grief, and the future struggles of regaining their footing. The devastation, panic and helplessness on everyone’s faces were disturbing and tragic. It was the most frightening experience Victoria faced, that changed her life forever.

After weeks of recovering from this perennial occurrence as her family regained their footing, Victoria’s mindset and core values shifted drastically. After she witnessed the obliteration of her surroundings, saw her house almost tragically collapse, and many of her possessions were wrecked; she discovered that the material possessions which once consumed her life so prominently were actually worth very little and are not the key to life-long happiness. She took on a new perspective and valued her family more than ever, cherishing every moment she spent with them. She attempted to maintain strong, positive family relationships and was grateful for everything she could call hers.

[elysepopplewell]

HELLO
i've finally accumulated to 50 posts PLSPLS mark my creative + in my opinion it's lacking on the discovery aspect, but I'm not sure how to approach it - could you perhaps suggest somekind of plot points or like things that could occur to further portray the impact of discovery ?? thanks so much!!!!! PLS SAVE MY ATAR LMFAO

Spoiler

Leonard woke up to another crumpled emptiness on the other side of their bed. He had tried to fill the void of space himself everyday, by painting the empty canvases they promised to fill together with the art they had devoted their lives to. Papers and threadbare socks were scattered across the stone-cold timber floors around the fortress. He could almost see the look of disappointment on Maria’s face if she had known what he’d become.

The bedridden sun was still buried in its cloak of anxiety and cast a lone shadow on the floor, barely warming the bareness that permeated the walls of his room. Sprawled across them, decades-old paintings attempted to compensate for the blankness. He closed his eyes to reimagine the trials of his youth in these illustrations which had now to him, become lifeless bodies of muted grey and insipidity.

The fireplace which was once ample and alive, and had facilitated late night conspiratorial whispers and dozes wrapped in blankets, was now black and charred with dead secrets buried in the ashes. Now, even the layers of brick seemed to want to disintegrate and crumble under the weight of the yellowing photographs of frozen smiles entrapped in time. He tried to avoid the gaze of the happy faces.

Their happy faces. Nice variation of length and language! I also especially like the dead secrets buried in the ashes. Very creative!

Heaving himself off the bed, he stumbled towards his easel - a place both of refuge and despair.
Its flaking wood and peeling skin was almost repulsive, as it looked like it was about to succumb to ruin and collapse from the heavy burden of unsatisfactory canvas after canvas, day after day.

He began to etch tendrils for branches, but the pencil disobeyed his mind and as his fingers clutched its weak wooden frame anxiously, it quivered in his grasp. The curvature of wise beaks would only become the squabble of pigeons. Mighty wings would only become feeble scribbles crumbling in the violent wind.


*********************************

So he decided to stop these fantasies and desires. He only knew they were never be got at again. I don't know what this means? Not without Maria.

It had taken him weeks to approach their cupboard - he had to learn how to resist the fluttering of her ribbons in the books she didn’t want to crease, or the whiff of her rustic perfume in their room. Packing away his brushes palettes, placing them delicately into a wooden box. He began categorising things into the chapters they shared in their lives, sorting the colossal stack of paintings in the corner which were billowing with dust. To me, billowing isn't the right word. Flicking and flicking he tried to avoid the gaze of each canvas to avoid feeling nauseous. He was eventually interrupted an unfamiliar convolution of pigments and hues which seduced his eyes - its contents unrecognisable.

He was baffled by the complexity of it all.
 
Amongst stern boulder-like clouds which threatened to swallow the sky, dainty wisps of periwinkle greeted through rifts that the fog could not reach. Above the clouds, stars were delicately plotted to sprawl across an expanse of infinite black and navy. Back on the earth, fields and fields of herbage and vegetation quivered from the cool remnants of a shower extending their green limbs. A forest of silvery poplars rose spangled with the dewy glittering of gold and green in welcome. A flock of crimson birds crowded and nestled amongst its boughs relinquishing the open air in shrill, energetic conversation. Each bird flitted about and tended to each other. Their reddened headdresses defied the ashen ambience of the scenery as they rode the unreachable thermals above as if in a graceful ballroom dance. In the midst of it all, a tiny figure stood awkwardly, gazing upwards and almost engulfed by the overwhelming entity, hypnotised by the crisp symphony of his world.

At the bottom, signed, in delicate curls and rolling letters: “For my Leonard - Maria”

It was one of those unfamiliar scenes, like a childhood hometown left unvisited to evaporate from memory, only to return surging. For so long, he realised how he had craved the hypnotism and soothe of her. Wonder devoured the monotony that had stifled him, pulsing through his arteries like water flooding into dry rivulets.
His eyes followed the winding river the figure stood in and traced it as it meandered into the horizon.
You are alone, but you are not alone! The figure seemed to piercingly voice.

His eyes welled up with the droplets of laughter they shared.

He set down her creation, returning to his own easel by the window and picked up his brush, gripping it. He had forgotten how comfortably it sat in his hands, like a natural extension of his body, like another limb. Caressing its mahogany build, he recalled the intense spectrum of hues that dominated their lives, visualising them on the frosted blank.

Even without Maria, his own story would continue - she seemed to be telling him that now.

Meticulously, he carved effortless strokes onto the awaiting linen.

A stroke of vibrant vermillion, a stroke of brilliant blue.
A stroke for each remnant of memory that they made together.

A stroke for each memory he will make himself from now on.

I like the way you've used art as a motif and also a propellant for the story throughout. Your writing is very descriptive. I only have one thing to suggest in terms of language. If you're on a PC, click Control + F and if you're on a mac, command + F, and search the word "which." It's used 9 times and it's no coincidence that in each of those sentences I felt like it jarred. Amongst stern boulder-like clouds which threatened to swallow the sky Removing the "which" here and instead writing, "Amongst stern boulder-like clouds, threatening to swallow the sky..." you make it flow much nicer. It's something I've noticed a lot of students tend to do is use "which" and "as to which" (you're only doing the first) and it gets used a few too many times as a connector and it begins to stick out. So a heads up on this one!

In terms of your plot:
I like this story, it's quite nice because of the way the art ties the entire thing together in a really fluid way. There are times where the imagery is too deep, and this is mainly in personifications like "threatening to swallow the sky" which is brilliant, but when it's paired with "stern boulder-like clouds" it is a very descriptive heavy, so I'd take a close look at passages like that. You've identified that you want to explore more discovery, and I agree it's important. I've read a few stories in a similar style to yours now, where a significant person dies, then the person remaining finds something that gives them the strength to see things differently. Perhaps you could pull on emotions a bit more to make the discovery more meaningful for a reader. It's nice because there's a few levels of emotion, but one that really pulls me in a way of thinking "wow that made me feel something" might in turn culminate in an emotional discovery. This would likely mean adding a "shock" element which can be a risky path to go down, especially because it's easy to fall into the trap of putting the discovery all at the end. But I think that's a place you can work on in this essay as is, in that the bulk of the discoveries happens at the end instead of being throughout the piece. Perhaps we need to work on bringing a discovery in from earlier on, embedding it earlier in the piece and then there will be more levels of discovery, but also a greater effect of the last discovery too.

I hope this helps and gives you a bit of direction for your final adjustments!

[elysepopplewell]

Are you prepared to be disgusted with my creative writing???

In all seriousness, My creative writing sucks, and it always has sucked. It is the area which drops me from 86-87% down to an 80-81%. I think my best mark ever has been a 9/15 :/ I've always struggled with it, as I'm never too sure how on earth to improve it (teachers are limited)

In my creative writing, I have added multiple "italics" as shown in my comments and questions throughout the writing.

Creative WITH my comments

Spoiler

I swung around in my chair and leapt towards the door, today was the day."Is this a good way to start a creative writing? It doesn't really "grab" the attention of the reader" I lurched out of the room and inhaled the fresh, innocent morning air and watched the light of the world wake up from it’s slumber as I situated my panama hat "I wanted a hat to be placed on, but the word panama doesn't seem to roll off properly, but I didn't want to just call it a hat"to hide myself from its influence. I walked calmly down the street, trying to not draw attention to the salvaged emotion bubbling inside of me. My legs were trembling as if they’d never walked this stride before but I kept my pace; fast but steady, the weight of anticipation urged me to reach the airport as soon as possible. I knew this was excessive, pointless; the plane had a set time of arrival. Yet I couldn’t help being anxious, excited, itching for that time to be now. I had waited so long"Does this last part seem cliche?".

I smirked as I watched the trees majestically sway and dance in rhythm, distracting me of what’s the come, the arrival of the person who I would see so very soon"Again, I feel like this sentence is poorly written; too "lovey dovey" is that makes sense". The birds sang in harmony, praising and celebrating as if they were in my presence"I want birds to be apart of this, but this "as if they were in my presence" doesn't seem like the best of wording, how could I improve this?". Lost in my own vacant thoughts, I looked up to realise the airport upon the horizon. "Is this too sudden, seems forced to me"I enter the pristine, white, sunlit area, filled with people dashing around with a passion and a determination to explore the world around them. I pull out a crumpled, brown piece of paper and read “23” scrawled onto it, knowing that this was where I needed to be. As I walked, the bold red numbers on the billboards began to rise; 1, 2, 3 … "Is this proper writing? Am I allowed? If it effective?"As I continued, the hall began to fill, becoming congested until I was constantly brushing shoulders with society until I reached hallway 23, then everyone seemed to vanish."Again, is feel abrupt, and not well thought out, everyone did not "vanish" it was more meant to show his concentration on the situation, again, I don't know how to effectively portray this"

I stood in the middle of the corridor, my hands faced together as a horde of passengers began to slowly flood towards me. My eyes darted person to person, desperately looking for her, her glowing orange hair while not moving a muscle. "Is the description here needed?" The crowd began to wash over me"here I'm trying to portray society as symbolic, especially with water and the random nature of it, I know; I'm poor at conveying it", but I kept my confidence, watching like an eagle, silent as a grave,"these similies seem too generic, is this fine?" hoping for any indication. The crowd began to grunt and push at my presence, but I did not care, I could not care. However their presence vanished as fast as they approached, the corridor was once again….. Empty? "is this allowed?"I was confused, baffled, concerned. I attempted to call her, but she did not pick up. I concluded that I had forgotten the time of arrival, so I continued to stand, waiting. Wave after wave of other passengers washed a little more hope away from my tight grasp, my legs screamed to give up, but my mind was determined, I continued to hope. "The whole last two sentences seem to be rushed, do you get that vibe? If so, how do I improve it?"
But she did not arrive. "I thought this was actually good?........ is it?"

The room began to darken and my head fell heavily, all hope had been lost. I turned back to exit the building, once full of emotions, now barren, I'm trying to link society as a whole to him, as he felt more "human", he'd be literally and metaphorically closer to society, again, was this ineffective?"the walls greyed, hiding their once found beauty. The sun hid its influence, The world lost its enchantment. I exited the airport and was greeted by a chilling gust of wind mocking my vulnerability as I inhaled sharply trying to expel my disappointments. The trees began to mock me as their leaves whispered about my demise while the birds, did not dare mutter a word as my shoulders hung low with the burden as the final ray of life left my world."I was trying to give light, this symbol that represented his emotions? Heh, I might be shallow in the analysis here"I lurched towards my door and slumped back into my chair. Many thoughts and questions flashed through my mind as I fell my head into my hands. What went wrong? I pulled out my phone and scrolled through our texts, the glorious texts and I remembered the good times, "This seems like filler to me, even though it wasn't"but this only filled me with more hopelessness. I sunk down, dejected and defeated, tomorrow is now just another day."This ending seems too sudden :/"

Creative WITHOUT my comments

Spoiler

I swung around in my chair and leapt towards the door, today was the day. I lurched out of the room and inhaled the fresh, innocent morning air and watched the light of the world wake up from its slumber as I situated my panama hat to hide myself from its influence. I walked calmly down the street, trying to not draw attention to the salvaged emotion bubbling inside of me. My legs were trembling as if they’d never walked this stride before but I kept my pace; fast but steady, the weight of anticipation urged me to reach the airport as soon as possible. I knew this was excessive, pointless; the plane had a set time of arrival. Yet I couldn’t help being anxious, excited, itching for that time to be now. I had waited so long.

I smirked as I watched the trees majestically sway and dance in rhythm, distracting me of what’s the come, the arrival of the person who I would see so very soon. The birds sang in harmony, praising and celebrating as if they were in my presence. Lost in my own vacant thoughts, I looked up to realise the airport upon the horizon. I enter the pristine, white, sunlit area, filled with people dashing around with a passion and a determination to explore the world around them. I pull out a crumpled, brown piece of paper and read “23” scrawled onto it, knowing that this was where I needed to be. As I walked, the bold red numbers on the billboards began to rise; 1, 2, 3 … As I continued, the hall began to fill, becoming congested until I was constantly brushing shoulders with society until I reached hallway 23, then everyone seemed to vanish.

I stood in the middle of the corridor, my hands viced together as a horde of passengers began to slowly flood towards me. My eyes darted person to person, desperately looking for her, her glowing orange hair while not moving a muscle.  The crowd began to wash over me, but I kept my confidence, watching like an eagle, silent as a grave, hoping for any indication. The crowd began to grunt and push at my presence, but I did not care, I could not care. However their presence vanished as fast as they approached, the corridor was once again….. Empty? I was confused, baffled, concerned. I attempted to call her, but she did not pick up. I concluded that I had forgotten the time of arrival, so I continued to stand, waiting. Wave after wave of other passengers washed a little more hope away from my tight grasp, my legs screamed to give up, but my mind was determined, I continued to hope.
But she did not arrive.

The room began to darken and my head fell heavily, all hope had been lost. I turned back to exit the building, once full of emotions, now barren, the walls greyed, hiding their once found beauty. The sun hid its influence, The world lost its enchantment. I exited the airport and was greeted by a chilling gust of wind mocking my vulnerability as I inhaled sharply trying to expel my disappointments. The trees began to mock me as their leaves whispered about my demise while the birds, did not dare mutter a word as my shoulders hung low with the burden as the final ray of life left my world.I lurched towards my door and slumped back into my chair. Many thoughts and questions flashed through my mind as I fell my head into my hands. What went wrong? I pulled out my phone and scrolled through our texts, the glorious texts and I remembered the good times, but this only filled me with more hopelessness. I sunk down, dejected and defeated, tomorrow is now just another day.

Overall, I attempted to give symbols and motifs, but they might be too shallow.

Also, My storyline as a whole, nothing really progressess, its a story that just shows a discovery of the presence of nothing, and then his reaction to it, how drastic will my marks drop due to this.

Also, my Creative currently is very short, what are some things I could add to bring up this word count?

Finally, I feel like there is no "resolution" and I've been told that marks can be lost, is my ending really that bad?

Also my writing as a whole, how is it? how Poorly am I communicating current events? Is my style right?

Thank you so much

Heya! Let's have a go at this and see what we can do to boost your marks in a short time I'll edit the copy with the italics so I can put my own comments in bold to reply to you

Spoiler

I swung around in my chair and leapt towards the door, today was the day."Is this a good way to start a creative writing? It doesn't really "grab" the attention of the reader" I'd put "today was the day" as a sentence of its own. I lurched out of the room and inhaled the fresh, innocent morning air and watched the light of the world wake up from it’s slumber as I situated my panama hat "I wanted a hat to be placed on, but the word panama doesn't seem to roll off properly, but I didn't want to just call it a hat" Maybe talk about the fabric of the hat rather than the type - like felt,
 or leather, or suede...to hide myself from its influence. I walked calmly down the street, trying to not draw attention to the salvaged emotion bubbling inside of me. My legs were trembling as if they’d never walked this stride before but I kept my pace; fast but steady, the weight of anticipation urged me to reach the airport as soon as possible. I knew this was excessive, pointless; the plane had a set time of arrival. Yet I couldn’t help being anxious, excited, itching for that time to be now. I had waited so long"Does this last part seem cliche?". I had waited so long - cliched. I had waited too long - interesting.

I smirked as I watched the trees majestically sway and dance in rhythm, distracting me of what’s the come, I don't know what you're saying here the arrival of the person who I would see so very soon"Again, I feel like this sentence is poorly written; too "lovey dovey" is that makes sense". The thing that makes it lovey dovey is "so very" instead of "so soon" or "very soon" you've said "so very soon." The birds sang in harmony, praising and celebrating as if they were in my presence"I want birds to be apart of this, but this "as if they were in my presence" doesn't seem like the best of wording, how could I improve this?". I'm not sure what you are trying to say because I figure if you can hear the birds, they must be in your presence. Do you mean, "as if they were singing for me?" or "as if they were my symphony?"
  Lost in my own vacant thoughts, I looked up to realise the airport upon the horizon. "Is this too sudden, seems forced to me"I enter the pristine, white, sunlit area, filled with people dashing around with a passion and a determination to explore the world around them. I pull out a crumpled, brown piece of paper and read “23” scrawled onto it, knowing that this was where I needed to be. As I walked, the bold red numbers on the billboards began to rise; 1, 2, 3 … "Is this proper writing? Am I allowed? If it effective?"As I continued, the hall began to fill, becoming congested until I was constantly brushing shoulders with society until I reached hallway 23, then everyone seemed to vanish."Again, is feel abrupt, and not well thought out, everyone did not "vanish" it was more meant to show his concentration on the situation, again, I don't know how to effectively portray this" Instead of using "vanished" what about a softer word like "faded into white noise"

I stood in the middle of the corridor, my hands faced together as a horde of passengers began to slowly flood towards me. My eyes darted person to person, desperately looking for her, her glowing orange hair while not moving a muscle. "Is the description here needed?" The "while not moving a muscle" thing is probably the imagery that confuses it for me, I like the hair. The crowd began to wash over me"here I'm trying to portray society as symbolic, especially with water and the random nature of it, I know; I'm poor at conveying it", but I kept my confidence, watching like an eagle, silent as a grave,"these similies seem too generic, is this fine?" hoping for any indication. I'd say something like "as stoic as..." and pick something that is stoic (not a stone lol). Because stoic kind of combines those two together, if I'm interpreting what you would like to say correctly. The crowd began to grunt and push at my presence, but I did not care, I could not care. However their presence vanished as fast as they approached, the corridor was once again….. Empty? "is this allowed?"I was confused, baffled, concerned. I attempted to call her, but she did not pick up. I concluded that I had forgotten the time of arrival, so I continued to stand, waiting. Wave after wave of other passengers washed a little more hope away from my tight grasp, my legs screamed to give up, but my mind was determined, I continued to hope. "The whole last two sentences seem to be rushed, do you get that vibe? If so, how do I improve it?"
But she did not arrive. "I thought this was actually good?........ is it?"

The room began to darken and my head fell heavily, all hope had been lost. I turned back to exit the building, once full of emotions, now barren, I'm trying to link society as a whole to him, as he felt more "human", he'd be literally and metaphorically closer to society, again, was this ineffective?"the walls greyed, hiding their once found beauty. Were the walls of an airport ever found to be beautiful? The sun hid its influence, The world lost its enchantment. I exited the airport and was greeted by a chilling gust of wind mocking my vulnerability as I inhaled sharply trying to expel my disappointments. The trees began to mock me as their leaves whispered about my demise while the birds, did not dare mutter a word as my shoulders hung low with the burden as the final ray of life left my world."I was trying to give light, this symbol that represented his emotions? Heh, I might be shallow in the analysis here"I lurched towards my door and slumped back into my chair. Many thoughts and questions flashed through my mind as I fell my head into my hands. What went wrong? I pulled out my phone and scrolled through our texts, the glorious texts and I remembered the good times, "This seems like filler to me, even though it wasn't"but this only filled me with more hopelessness. I sunk down, dejected and defeated, tomorrow is now just another day."This ending seems too sudden :/"

I think the story needs an element of sinister or humour. If you follow the humour right, he needs to spring out of bed and pull on some kind of memorable clothing (rainbow socks?), waltz out the door with a flower in his shirt pocket, (use very colourful imagery), and as the piece goes on and the colour begins to fade and is replaced by monochrome imagery as the woman never appears. In terms of adding the sinister...I'm confused about why he showed up at the airport? is it because he thought the woman he met online would appear? I'm wondering if you could change the plot and perhaps make it that he has an illness that makes him think his wife is getting off the plane from a girls trip in Bali, but actually she died last year and he's retired and confused and has an illness. The airport staff escort him out because it happens every Sunday night. Perhaps you could make it that he jumped out of bed because that day he was going to become very rich, if his drug mule had managed to make it through customs. So he's waiting, and waiting, but as everyone else picks up their loved ones and leaves he's just left at the end, where police can easily identify him and arrest him. And they do so.

These are just ideas, but I think the crux of your problem is that the plot has a great crescendo, so much excitement and waiting and moving, only for the reader to be a little confused by the ending because it just all seems futile. Your writing isn't awful by any stretch, but hopefully I've given you direction about how to improve your plot line - and this will, in turn, make the creative longer