Free AOS Creative Writing Marking!

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey!! Back again with the creative - thanks so much for the advice I did do a bit of moving around/revising things which sounded weird
I added a bit more here and there, but now I think maybe by adding to the story I might have disrupted the flow? And I think there's still a few 'holes' which may read a bit unusually (and the ending is still pretty vague)

Remember, please don't hesitate in ripping it to shreds if need be!!
Thanks again 

Hey again brontem! Thanks for posting, I've had another read to check for the flow in the current form!! Comments throughout 

Spoiler

Just as he suspected. The denial was simply wishful thinking.
Andy’s hands trembled as he clasped on to the document which uncovered the truth. Crushing it in his fists, his hands pressed against his head, cringing in anguish. He never once questioned the position he held in his own life…. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the reality that he has never been, or will ever be, the father of his beloved son.
The air around him began to thicken, and he was fighting to breathe. His bones rattled at the realisation, and tremors shook his body as he sat awake through the night. Still an effective introduction, really sets the atmosphere brilliantly.
Andy groggily struggled to maintain normality as he mechanically went through his morning routine. Taking his newspaper underarm, the morning stroll to the office was hostile, attempting to absorb the streetscape to distract his mind, and taking no notice of the beggar on his way. Throughout the day reality sent tremors through his whole being.
Familiarity was drifting further away from him upon returning home each day. The actuality of the relationship with his son strained his compassion. Interactions became merely an act of preservation. Any time he looked into the boy’s eyes, his body stung with fury. Immense pressure clasped around his being, and the only way to escape aggravation was to distance himself. Feeling a sense of self slip, the truth sucking away the compassion he had left. 
The dinner table seemed as though it was held up by tension as it became the only link which joined them together. Whirling air echoed around the room, making occasional clatters which were offbeat to the automatic clinking of silverware on porcelain. Ha, that actually made me grin ear to ear. Powerful! Glances were avoided by the shadow which was cast by the broken overhead light.
That night remained vivid in his memory for months afterwards. The household fell into a routine which barely necessitated words. Andy would order take out most nights; placing his son's order on the table and retreat to the study. I love this more imagery-focused approach that you are taking here, I'd even try to do this a bit more in previous paragraphs!! It's absolutely brilliant.
As the night dragged on the room would slowly fall into darkness - the only light the synthetic glow of his computer screen. When the television began to blare from the other room Andy would quieten the distraction with three sharp knocks on the adjoining wall. By the time he emerged the night had crept into morning and there was no sign of his son. Excellent atmosphere created, structurally this is really great. That statement, "no sign of his son," is quite conclusive, the mood is set and I now wait for the climax.
The umbrella worked hard to hold itself up in the morning’s torrential rain as Andy marched to his office. Fog accompanied the rain; navigating the distance ahead became difficult.
Standing impatiently on the corner, Andy unintentionally locked eyes with the beggar across the street. His limbs were shuddering from the bitter cold and the cardboard structure over his head was weeping under the weight of the rain. The misery in his eyes pulsed through his being, the striking resemblance of his withdrawn stare and disheartened demeanour struck through to Andy’s core; he jolted at the similarity to the expressions of his son. I would still love to see some examples of this. Extend it a bit more, this is one of the bits that makes the ending a bit unrealistic. How was the link drawn? Recount specific situations or link to language/phrases in the prior section, make the reader believe this reaction. You spend HEAPS of time going into the effect, but only about a line on the cause, if that makes sense?
He watched the beggar toss the structure from over his head, with the weak cardboard dissolving into the puddle beside him. Tremors flooded back into Andy's system, somehow annihilating the disgust and filling him with regret. Time seemed to slow down, making his mind dizzy with remorse.
His stomach twisted as shame soaked through to his bone. Chills pierced every cell in his body as he realised what he had done. The daze which swept his brain unravelled memories of the months passed; Andy was unsettled by the selfishness which had taken over his heart and his mind, in an attempt to blame the feigned relationship on the innocent child.
The blood rushing through his veins lost all purpose, his pulse weakened to a pathetic beat. His heart and his mind flooded with disregard; condemning him from human emotion. The hazy streetscape became suffocating; the air condensed around him as he gasped for breath.
Fog enveloped his body as it filled with disgust. He felt undeserving of the protection which the umbrella provided and dropped it by his side. The bitter wind made the raindrops prickle his skin; the world around him was blurred by a thick haze as his fingertips were gnawed by frost.
The atmosphere around him became murkier with every breath as he disappeared into the bleary mist. [d]I like the new, more negative approach, but it still feels somewhat anticlimactic.

The first half of this story is absolutely brilliant. Atmosphere set excellently, really sets up the concepts you are going to explore really well. I'd not touch much of it (except of course to make it suit the latter half if it gets changed), it is absolutely fantastic 

I think the second half still needs some work. The cheesiness is definitely gone, so brilliant job on that, the negative ending helps a lot to making the outcome match the tone you are setting and your language style. Works well  however, it still feels anticlimactic, out of nowhere and forced. I think the best way to explain why, for me as a reader, is cause and effect. Think about an effective story arc (remember those little graphs that you drew that had a peak at the climax), it has a build up (a cause) and a cool down (an effect). You have pulled out the back half of that graph, extended the effect, and it works quite well. However, it reads a little strange, because the cause was only explored very briefly.

Essentially, it goes like this. Saw a beggar, looks/acts like the son (2 sentences). Oh my God sadness (4-5 paragraphs).

This corresponds to a lopsided graph and it, at least for me, is a little off putting. Hopefully this is making sense because it actually took me a while to realise what was throwing me aha! 

I'd suggest you build up to the realisation a little bit more. Perhaps even have the man interact with the beggar in some way over time as a 'replacement' for interacting with the son (that has the potential to be the cheesiest thing in the history of cheddar though, so maybe not, aha!). Maybe have him notice little things about the beggar each day that remind him of the son. Maybe use interaction with the beggar as a metaphor for the paternal relationship. At the start of the story (before he gets the letter) he chats every day, interacts, etc. Then after the letter he ignores the beggar. One day the beggar is gone (symbolic for the son being gone as well, sad ending). I'm vomiting ideas here a bit, but the approach is totally your call. What I need is a greater justification for the final effects on the protagonist, if that makes sense.

Besides that, your language style is excellent, and as I said the first half of the story is brilliant. This is a super powerful story waiting to be realised properly, can't wait to see what you do with it because your writing style is exceptional!! 

[brontem]

Hey!! I've taken your guidance again and tweaked my story about I really do appreciate the help I'm getting so thank you for that  I can definitely see it coming together more, but the more review the better!!
I got a friend to read over it and mentioned that some of the tenses may be a bit mixed up.. I tried my best to fix them but I've read it so much I probably have missed something 
Again.. rip it to shreds where you see fit!!
Thanks so much again!! 

[jamonwindeyer]

Hey!! I've taken your guidance again and tweaked my story about I really do appreciate the help I'm getting so thank you for that  I can definitely see it coming together more, but the more review the better!!
I got a friend to read over it and mentioned that some of the tenses may be a bit mixed up.. I tried my best to fix them but I've read it so much I probably have missed something 
Again.. rip it to shreds where you see fit!!
Thanks so much again!! 

Hey Brontem! Awesome, sounds great, happy to keep giving you feedback as it comes together for you!!  I'll try to keep an eye on tense issues in this read for you 

Spoiler

Just as he suspected. The denial was simply wishful thinking.
Andy’s hands trembled as he clasped on to the document which uncovered the truth. Crushing it in his fists, his hands pressed against his head, cringing in anguish. He never once questioned the position he held in his own life…. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the reality that he has never been, or will ever be, the father of his beloved son. I actually think 'had' was more correct in that sentence!
The air around him began to thicken, and he was fighting to breathe. His bones rattled at the realisation, and tremors shook his body as he sat awake through the night.
Andy groggily struggled to maintain normality as he mechanically went through his morning routine. Taking his newspaper underarm, the morning stroll to the office was hostile, attempting to absorb the streetscape to distract his mind, and taking no notice of the beggar on his way. The wording in that sentence was a little bit askew, it might need a tweak. Throughout the day reality sent tremors through his whole being.
Familiarity was drifting further away from him upon returning home each day. The actuality of the relationship with his son strained his compassion. Interactions became merely an act of preservation. Any time he looked into the boy’s eyes, his body stung with fury. Immense pressure clasped around his being, and the only way to escape aggravation was to distance himself. Feeling a sense of self slip, the truth sucking away the compassion he had left.  Something iffy about this sentence too, I think it is tense, perhaps 'sucked?'
The dinner table seemed as though it was held up by tension as it became the only link which joined them together. Whirling air echoed around the room, making occasional clatters which were offbeat to the automatic clinking of silverware on porcelain. Glances were avoided by the shadow which was cast by the broken overhead light.
That night remained vivid in his memory for months afterwards. The household fell into a routine which barely necessitated words. Andy would order take out most nights; placing his son's order on the table and retreat to the study. As the night dragged on the room would slowly fall into darkness - the only light the synthetic glow of his computer screen. When the television began to blare from the other room Andy would quieten the distraction with three sharp knocks on the adjoining wall. By the time he emerged the night had crept into morning and there was no sign of his son.
The umbrella worked hard to hold itself up in the morning’s torrential rain as Andy marched to his office. Fog accompanied the rain; navigating the distance ahead became difficult.
Standing impatiently on the corner, Andy gains focus through the misty streetscape and is intrigued by the lonely beggar, withered on the other side. Sunlight attempted to infiltrate the sky; only making weak streams down to the earth. The glisten of the beams irritates Andy’s stare even further - all those nights spent at fluorescent screens have temporarily deteriorated his sight. 'Have' should be 'had.'
Rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear them, Andy unintentionally locks eyes with the beggar across the street. His limbs were shuddering from the bitter cold and the cardboard structure over his head was weeping under the weight of the rain. The atmosphere is now not only thick with fog, but washed with tension. I like that you are dragging this out more, gives it a greater sense of tension.

The wind is howling in his ears and a familiar yet abrupt metallic racket pulses through his mind. Andy winces; the ear splitting rattles nauseate him. He tries to regain his stance but his vision of the beggar is still blurred by the heavy shadows from the clouds overhead.
The misery in his eyes pulsed through his being, the familiarity of his withdrawn stare and disheartened demeanour struck through to Andy’s core. The withered figure is far from Andy’s reach but the guilt is all too familiar. Ooooh, that last sentence or two and its more subtle approach was great. This is developing much better!
He watched the beggar toss the structure from over his head, with the weak cardboard dissolving into the puddle beside him. Tremors flooded back into Andy's system, somehow annihilating the disgust and filling him with regret. Time seemed to slow down, making his mind dizzy with remorse. 
His stomach twisted as shame soaked through to his bone. Chills pierced every cell in his body as he realised what he had done. The daze which swept his brain unravelled memories of the months passed; Andy was unsettled by the selfishness which had taken over his heart and his mind, in an attempt to blame the feigned relationship on the innocent child. Watching the helpless man let his makeshift home disintegrate around him left Andy agitated; he felt this moment bore an unsettling affinity with the demise of his own attempt at fatherhood. Andy had damaged the father-son bond beyond repair. I feel like this final realisation now needs to be stated more powerfully, the build up is now there. Now it needs some UMPH, if you catch me. Like these last two sentences say what needs to be said, but as a reader I don't get much impact, or drama. Try playing with things like sentence length or repetition to really drive it home, I think this is the chance to be LESS descriptive, and just, "Holy shit, that is my son." Differentiate it from the very descriptive nature of the rest of your text.
The blood rushing through his veins lost all purpose, his pulse weakened to a pathetic beat. His heart and his mind flooded with disregard; condemning him from human emotion. The hazy streetscape became suffocating; the air condensed around him as he gasped for breath.
Fog enveloped his body as it filled with disgust. He felt undeserving of the protection which the umbrella provided and dropped it by his side. Cool touch! The bitter wind made the raindrops prickle his skin; the world around him was blurred by a thick haze as his fingertips were gnawed by frost.
The atmosphere around him became murkier with every breath as he disappeared into the bleary mist. I think this ending could be a little more powerful too; maybe bring the beggar in more? The beggar is the catalyst to this whole thing, maybe Andy watches HIM walk away into the mist (an obvious but effective metaphor). I'll leave you with it, but it just needs something more.

To start, it seems that there are more little issues with wording in this edit. It might be that you mentioning it made me more inclined to notice, but I didn't notice any tense issues in the last edit! Nothing made me stop and have to re-read a sentence in any case, which happened in this edit, so watch for that! I indicated a few sentences which made me double take and suggested an amendment

That said, the build up to the climax is now much more effective. You draw it out and it feels more significant as a result, very very cool!! I think now your focus should go to really making the ending powerful. "He had broken the father son bond beyond repair," acts as the climax of that story. That sentence, and the paragraph preceding it, needs a little more impact. Shorter, punchier sentences might help. Have a play with that paragraph and see what you can do to really make it leap off the page.

As another wholistic comment, your text is very descriptive. There are times when you want to abandon that more elaborate style and just be blunt. Perhaps play with this as a way to make that paragraph more impactful for the audience.

Another thing you could try (you definitely don't need this, just an option if you feel creative) is try swapping to 1st person. My creatives were usually in 3rd, and my teacher suggested trying 1st person for one of my creatives. It ended up really improving it. It might be worth a go  I stress, I'm not specifically suggesting that you should do it, just an idea if you want to try it 

All this said, the story now flows really really well and I think it is awesomely effective, excellent work Brontem!! Please feel free to keep uploading the story and we'll keep providing feedback, I might ask Elyse to handle the next version so you can get a fresh set of eyes on it, Elyse may have some new feedback/ideas/fixes. That's the trouble with creatives, they are very objective, so its awesome to get it read by as many people as possible!! 

[brontem]

Hello, back yet again  I fixed up some of the tense issues and redid some of the parts that were pointed out  I can totally see it coming together now . Here's the next edit!! Thanks so much!! 

[jamonwindeyer]

Hello, back yet again  I fixed up some of the tense issues and redid some of the parts that were pointed out  I can totally see it coming together now . Here's the next edit!! Thanks so much!! 

Welcome back!!  great to hear! I love that feeling of having something come together  you know the drill, comments throughout 

Spoiler

Just as he suspected. The denial was simply wishful thinking.
Andy’s hands trembled as he clasped on to the document which uncovered the truth. Crushing it in his fists, his hands pressed against his head, cringing in anguish. He never once questioned the position he held in his own life…. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the reality that he had never been, or will ever be, the father of his beloved son
The air around him began to thicken, and he was fighting to breathe. His bones rattled at the realisation, and tremors shook his body as he sat awake through the night.
Andy struggled to maintain normality as he mechanically went through his morning routine. Taking his newspaper underarm, the morning stroll to the office was hostile. He attempted to distract his mind by pondering the streetscape, but took no notice of the beggar on his way. Throughout the day reality sent tremors through his whole being.
Familiarity was drifting further away from him upon returning home each day. The actuality of the relationship with his son strained his compassion. Interactions became merely an act of preservation. Any time he looked into the boy’s eyes, his body stung with fury. Immense pressure clasped around his being, and the only way to escape aggravation was to distance himself. Feeling a sense of self slip, the truth sucked away the compassion he had left. 
The dinner table seemed as though it was held up by tension as it became the only link which joined them together. Whirling air echoed around the room, making occasional clatters which were offbeat to the automatic clinking of silverware on porcelain. Glances were avoided by the shadow which was cast by the broken overhead light.
That night remained vivid in his memory for months afterwards. The household fell into a routine which barely necessitated words. Andy would order take out most nights; after placing his son's order on the table he would retreat to the study. As the night dragged on the room would slowly fall into darkness - the only light the synthetic glow of his computer screen. When the television began to blare from the other room Andy would quieten the distraction with three sharp knocks on the adjoining wall. By the time he emerged the night had crept into morning and there was no sign of his son. Introduction still works wonderfully, keep refining this as you see fit, I love it  although, as an idea, maybe bring the beggar in a second time (second walk to work?), so he pops up twice before the end?

The umbrella worked hard to hold itself up in the morning’s torrential rain as Andy marched to his office. Fog accompanied the rain; navigating the distance ahead became difficult. I still love this pathetic fallacy!
Standing impatiently on the corner, Andy gains focus through the misty streetscape and is intrigued by the lonely beggar, withered on the other side. I think a sight swap around might assist here, slide the description of the beggar below up to here. It feels more natural: Notice the beggar, describe him, a little bit more natural than jumping back to it later in my opinion? Sunlight attempted to infiltrate the sky; only making weak streams down to the earth. The glisten of the beams irritates Andy’s stare even further - all those nights spent at fluorescent screens had temporarily deteriorated his sight.
Rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear them, Andy unintentionally locks eyes with the beggar across the street. His limbs were shuddering from the bitter cold and the cardboard structure over his head was weeping under the weight of the rain. The atmosphere is now not only thick with fog, but washed with tension.
The wind howled in his ears and a familiar, yet abrupt metallic racket pulsed through his mind. Andy winced; the ear splitting rattles were nauseating. He tried to regain his stance but his vision of the beggar was still blurred by the heavy shadows from the clouds overhead.
The misery in his eyes pulsed through his being, the familiarity of his withdrawn stare and disheartened demeanour struck through to Andy’s core. The withered figure was far from Andy’s reach, but the guilt was all too familiar. Very nice build up so far, sets an excellent tone.
He watched the beggar toss the structure from over his head. The weak cardboard dssolved into the puddle beside him. Tremors flooded back into Andy's system, somehow annihilating the disgust and filling him with regret. Time seemed to slow down, making his mind dizzy with remorse. 
His stomach twisted as shame soaked through to his bone. Chills pierced every cell in his body as he realised what he had done. The daze which swept his brain unravelled memories of the months passed; Andy was unsettled by the selfishness which had taken over his heart and his mind, in an attempt to blame the feigned relationship on the innocent child.
Watching the helpless man let his makeshift home disintegrate around him left Andy agitated. Something a bit more creative here than agitated might work, perhaps a good chance for a technique (to show off?)? He felt this moment bore an unsettling affinity with the demise of his own attempt at fatherhood.
The metallic clinking of cutlery echoed back into his mind... The vacant household. Routine interactions. Continuous misery. Andy had damaged the father-son bond beyond repair. Ahhh, cool, yep this is what we need, that first bit. Take things from this moment and compare them to things in the first half of the story. Those subtle links are crazy powerful. I'd cut back some of the more verbose emotive description from above and do more of what you do here to build up instead, it works really, really well.
The blood rushing through his veins lost all purpose, his pulse weakened to a pathetic beat. His heart and his mind flooded with disregard; condemning him from human emotion. The hazy streetscape became suffocating; the air condensed around him as he gasped for breath.
Fog enveloped his body as it filled with disgust. He felt undeserving of the protection which the umbrella provided and dropped it by his side. The bitter wind made the raindrops prickle his skin; the world around him was blurred by a thick haze as his fingertips were gnawed by frost. Really, really nice work here.
The atmosphere around him became murkier with every breath as he watched the beggar disappear into the bleary mist. I'd like to see a teensy bit more here, like even just adding "...with every breath as he watched the beggar turn away, abandon the crumpled cardboard roof now melting into the pavement, and walk away into the bleary mist." Something like this just to accentuate the walk away a little bit more, but I think the beggar walking away is definitely the way to go 

Ohhhh, I know totally what you mean about it all coming together. This is good, really good!

All your pieces are there. Basically my suggestions revolve around shifting the order of a few things, and pretty much, taking things you already do and do MORE of them. Linking back to the clinking of porcelain in the first section? Genius, bloody brilliant. I'd love to see more of that, more linking to section 1 to bring everything full circle. More description of experiences that the father had with his son, the lack of interaction, that are paralleled in this sudden interaction. More of that, and you'll have brought this where it needs to be, and you'll be on an absolute winner here.

Comparing this version to where it started, wow, it has come so far. You should be so super proud of yourself, this version is INCREDIBLE!! 

[elysepopplewell]

Hello, back yet again  I fixed up some of the tense issues and redid some of the parts that were pointed out  I can totally see it coming together now . Here's the next edit!! Thanks so much!! 

If you haven't already, I think the next step in your writing here is to try apply it to a stimulus. In fact, to several stimuli. The reason being, Jamon is suggesting you play with the order a bit. So you want to do this in a way that you know you're re-arranging the story in the best interests of potential stimulus. It's a small little trick, but it gives you piece of mind that you've dealt with a stimulus, or many, early, so that later on when you feel like you have the perfect story, you can do it with confidence that you can handle a stimulus coming your way!

[elysepopplewell]

hi Elyse!! I am back with some serious editing, please help me make this great for trials!! Forever grateful for your help

Hello! You're so kind. I can't wait to read it!
As usual, here is your original creative without any of my own comments:

Spoiler

With Knowledge comes power.
Oppenheimer was unaware that his brilliance would unleash calamity upon mankind: the first atomic bomb, 1945.
“We have made a thing, a most terrible weapon that has altered the nature of the world.”
The rest was history.
She had read somewhere that the cure for cancer was being suppressed between the calloused palms of business firms and medical institutions. Little did she know the repercussion/repercussionS? of leaking this wealth of Knowledge Is this a capital K for a reason?into society’s deprived soul.                 
 She called it justice.
You and I would call it corruption. I seriously love how I'm brought into the story like this. This is just so so impressive. An excellent technique!
***
Dr Samitha bathed her luscious charcoal hair unctuously with lavender Amla oil. So I just googled what Amla is, and it is an Indian gooseberry? Maybe Amla is a common word and I've just always managed to avoid it somehow. But if I'm not the only one who wasn't immediately familiar with this word, then your marker might be confused too. If it is important that it is Indian, then definitely keep it in there. If you are using it simply because it sounds unique, then I suggest going for a slightly more common but still unique oil. You don't want something to be so unique that it becomes abstract and detracts from the purpose. I also think there are a lot of adjectives here. I love "charcoal" hair. I don't love luscious. This is just my own opinion. Charcoal has a really vivid imagery. Luscious, not so intense.Her sunken eyes weathered from years of reading, revising, and rendering, were framed delicately with her fragmented glasses that sandwiched the crook of her nose. Fragmented as in broken? For some reason, delicately and fragmented seem to be a little jarring, particularly when partnered with "sandwiched" and "crook." There's a lot of imagery in a very small space.
She hoisted the scissors against her hairline, which burnt cold against her tender dark skin, hungry for the feminine locks. It was like an anesthetic to her pitiful gendered existence at work; the hammer that could shatter the glass ceiling. OMG. Amazing! Seriously, amazing!

She thought against it.

Soon all her hard work, in the domain of rigid gender constructs would be acknowledged. She would succeed without sacrificing her femininity to truly pave the way.

Hair tightly held back and teeth clenched, Dr Samitha staggered between the familiar suffocating magnolia walls brushed with undertones of bleach. She scavenged through myriads of medical chronicles and hunched methodically over the lab table.

Her heart poignantly whimpered as visions of her mother’s pained crinkled face that ironed into eternal tranquility This bit here appears to me as a little confusing/unnecessary. had flooded before her.  The patches of hair cleaved to her bald scalp as she rested against the linen pillow inertly.

1080 days of dedication.

She held the test tube against the fluorescent light for clarity and squinted at the immune system culture of T cell components – years of trial, error and perfection funneled into the glassware. With a generous drop from a micropipette, her eyes remained hesitantly locked to the lens of the electron microscope plated with diaphanous silver. Dr Samitha used her paraphernalia to genetically engineer a CD19 receptor onto the T & B cells amongst the tumorous cells.

Deep palpitations throbbed against her ear drums. Hot air smothered against her throat, rivulets of sweat adhered to skin. The smell of bleach tickled her nostrils as she unconsciously held her breath.

The T-cells crowded the cancerous cells like a flock of scavenging vultures surrounding a prey.

Dr Samitha gripped the table until her pale fingers barren of colour were nostalgic for sensation. She elevated the translucent solution against the stark light in awe, a tearful blurry view.

They would never understand her sacrifice.

Her eyes hesitantly lingered over the AAAS card to inform this scientific breakthrough that would pave history. She would be sitting in the hall of fame beside Francis Crick and James Watson.  There's some medical jargon that you can use without the reader knowing the meaning and thats fine, because it is necessary for setting the scene. AAAS card is something I don't know about, but I'm curious in case it is an important part of the story.

So why was she holding back?
She stretched her hand for the phone but found herself staggering back, a dark curtain drooped over her mind, lulling her to vertigo.

***
She found herself standing on the edge of a cliff, an unfamiliarly barren landscape lying below. The East Wind mockingly whistled over the sterile concrete jungle wrapped with smog which seethed over the billboard in the distance that declared the winner for 2060’s game show. She realised that she was glimpsing into a future she would never have envisaged.
“Not quite what you imagined, my dear?” her dead mother’s voice crystallised the cold air. Samitha stood frozen, still stunned by the desolately overpopulous landscape which stretched before her.
“My darling daughter, as much as it pains me to tell you after your years of toil and sacrifice, what you see before you is a result of your cure; overpopulation, corruption…
The pharmaceutical companies created a monopoly and patented to control the manufacture of the drugs. The rich on Wall Street are thriving on your success by stripping the middleclass and poor.  If only you could see the common man’s face permeating gloom not joy, working for pittance to survive.”
A window into what was hoped to be utopia was replaced with dystopia.
***
She wept.
So why was she holding back?

Her grip on the test tube tensed.
She could pay off her hefty university fees; compensate those years of slavery as a victim to the heinous act of cancer; to shower in fame and shed the limelight on gender inequality. Because you mentioned Wall Street, I'm inclined to think this is American. But when you talk about University fees (for the reason that they most commonly call them Colleges but also because more often than not they need to pay upfront, no hecs like us), I imagine that you're talking about Australia. It's a small detail, but be as consistent as possible.

Her grip on the test tube constricted further and the smell of bleach heightened. 
They will never understand her sacrifice.
“We have made a thing, a most terrible weapon that has altered the nature of the world.”
The test tube fractured under pressure, the laceration caking her hand in a rich maroon tapestry.
With Knowledge comes power – a power too rich in magnitude to tame.

Amazing! At this point I feel like I've been really taken on a journey. Which is great, incredible, and magnificent. I'm just going to drop some end points down the end here. Feel free to post back if you have any questions. Your work at this point isn't going to benefit from me trying to change your structure or anything like that, because that just doesn't need to happen. Where there are parts that are overly descriptive, I've pointed them out. I don't think you should discard the great language all together, but consider limiting it so that what you do choose to use is very distinct. I loved the glass ceiling reference and the fact that she was a woman. I'm curious if there is a way that you could make this more complex and sophisticated but I can't put my finger on exactly how. I think that perhaps alikening her womanhood to a broader paradigm of oppression, capitalism, who knows, might work really well. Unfortunately I don't have the answer and it will take a lot of thinking. I just want to see that really deep imagery of her womanhood come to life again later on. It shouldn't detract from the wider narrative, but it should add that extra layer. What do you think? Am I talking in a different language here or does this seem like a possibility?

All in all, this is a simply wonderful creative. Your language is sophisticated, your idea is complex but clear, and your execution of it all is really admirable.

I haven't given a lot of feedback, but that's because there's not a lot to give. Have you applied this to a stimulus yet? You should have a look around and give that a go. Please feel free to post the creative again or send a post back to flesh out any ideas! You're doing AMAZING

[smiley2101]

You are a life-saver Elyse! thank you!
Just a question; what do you mean by "I think that perhaps alikening her womanhood to a broader paradigm of oppression, capitalism, who knows, might work really well" - just a bit confused here but I feel like its something that would really lift my creative

[elysepopplewell]

You are a life-saver Elyse! thank you!
Just a question; what do you mean by "I think that perhaps alikening her womanhood to a broader paradigm of oppression, capitalism, who knows, might work really well" - just a bit confused here but I feel like its something that would really lift my creative

No worries, thanks for clarifying! Basically I mean, if we really put this in context (year, country, political happenings, eg. communism, capitalism) then you could make a connection to the idea that this woman has not just made a big move for herself, but a move for womankind. It's about taking her issue from being an isolated event and turning it into a narrative that is familiar to all or most women of her age/country, etc.

In Extension 1, creatives are really extended to be set in a context, and to resonate being just the isolated story. Basically, your story is at such a sophisticated level, that I'm just suggesting a way to strengthen it.

When you write the story, do you have a clear idea of country, year, and all of these kind of bigger details? You don't have to write them all in the story, but having a clear vision will naturally show in your writing with authenticity!

[Jimmy Barnes]

A discovery creative I made the other day, any feedback whatsoever would be appreciated as you two have been amazing for all my other subjects

[elysepopplewell]

A discovery creative I made the other day, any feedback whatsoever would be appreciated as you two have been amazing for all my other subjects

You're so kind! Absolutely we can have a look

Here is your original creative, in the spoiler:

Spoiler

His face had become a canvas, intricate slithers of scar tissue snaked across his sanguine face. His cheek peeled off the white sheets while the sterile scent of a hospital ward swept into his nostrils. A fresh wave of blood flowed out of his smouldered cheek as his neck muscles strained to hold his head, a miasma of somnolence drifting across his body until his head returned the maroon sheets.

-

He had gained consciousness again, a swathe of sterile bandages wrapped around his face, and his arms, and his legs. Fading in and out of consciousness, a translucent tube spiralled downwards, obscured by the face of a surgeon looking him in the eyes. The surgeons head moved, a bright, fluorescent light piercing his eyes, encompassing his vision as his head rolled back.

-

He sat upright in the hospital bed, scissors slicing through the bandage obscuring his face, then the bandage on his arms, then the bandage on his legs. As the feathery dressings floated to the floor, he opened his eyes, raising his arm into vision. A charred husk of its former self, patches of skin missing, surrounded by glossy black scar tissue. The nurse handed him a hand mirror, walking out with her head facing the floor. His eyes traced her outline, returning to the mirror that had grown heavier in his hand. The face that returned his glance was not his own, an amalgamation of scars and burnt tissue, as if someone had painstakingly dripped red candle wax onto his face. He threw the mirror away in disgust.

Light drifted in through the window onto the shattered remnants of the mirror, catching a tear streaming down a man’s face, pooling in the shallow crevices hollowed out from his ghastly wounds.

-

He hobbled down the street, grey hoodie obfuscating his face as best as it could. The physiotherapist’s house was a block away, what felt like an eternity. Head facing the pavement, he couldn’t see the looks of disgust, the looks of pity, the looks of shame.

A distant wailing pierced through the barriers he built up. As the sound faded away, the images arose from their slumber, assaulting his mind all at once. A collage of pictures, the fire truck, putting on his fireman overalls, the burning house, the wooden stairs collapsing under his weight, losing consciousness as the flames began to lap at his face.

He turned and knocked on the door, a young lady greeting him with a smile. As his head lifted, her smile began to crack at the edges, fading through pursed lips.

-

Their meetings grew more frequent. He slowly gained mobility in his arms and knees again. He sat on a padded bench while she stood in front, slowly extending his knee. Searing pains sliced through his lower body, accompanied by a sharp inhale. She looked him in the eyes as she stopped the movement. The sun reflected of her brunette hair, catching the edges of her sky blue eyes. A small smile crept into the edges of her mouth while she looked at him. The first person in the passing months that didn’t look at him and recoil in disgust.

-

The frequent trips continued, the judgmental stares in the street continued, the harsh whispers continued and the haphazard eye contact grew more frequent. He walked down the street to her house everyday, careful to always wear a hoodie. The windows, the windscreens and the mirrors followed in his shadow every time he left, waiting for an opportunity to remind him of the shell of a man he had become.

Yet she stood at the door every visit, no longer appalled by the repulsive knots of intricately merged flesh that made up the entirety of his face. Always with a smile, a genuine smile stemming from sincere kindness. He knew she was doing it out of necessity, yet the butterflies emerged whenever the edges of her lips reached up for her cheeks. 

-

The dim lighting in the bathroom dulled his features, the only hope for fostering a sense of self-confidence. He tightened the tie around his neck, the discoloured skin protesting against the soft fabric. The blazer felt foreign, grasping at the edges of his broad shoulders. With one last contemptible glance at himself in the mirror, he turned and left, grasping his pocket to make sure the movie ticket had not fallen out.

-

It was weird to start. He had associated her with pain, she always pushed him to stretch further and try harder. Now the physiotherapist stood in front of him, the movie had finished. The moonlight bounced across the trees, reflecting onto the wisps of her hair flowing in the cool midsummers breeze.

It was unnatural at first, but his lips began to creak and groan, working out the cobwebs of idleness. Curling at the edges, a smile began to cross his lips while he looked at her. An ephemeral gesture, the smile vanished as commotion broke out behind her. She turned, a reflective café tarp slowly drifted in the breeze, the moonlight emphasising his burn wounds. She turned around, his eyes had dropped to the floor.

He couldn’t comprehend why she was here. Was it out of pity? Was it out of a masochistic pleasure? He felt the breeze flow through his hair as a soft hand touched his jaw, beckoning him to lift his head.

She was there. She stood there, no other care in the world. He took it all in within a second, her soft features, the effulgence of the moon reflecting across her face, her sky blue eyes. Those two humble pools of water gazed up at him. She pulled him closer, his face centimetres from hers. Looking deep into her eyes, he saw the truth. She didn’t see his scars, she didn’t see the hideousness he knew, she only saw him.

Lips millimetres apart, they closed their eyes.

Here is your creative with my own comments throughout in bold font:

Spoiler

His face had become a canvas, intricate slithers of scar tissue snaked across his sanguine face. His cheek peeled off the white sheets while the sterile scent of a hospital ward swept into his nostrils. A fresh wave of blood flowed out of his smouldered cheek as his neck muscles strained to hold his head, a miasma of somnolence drifting across his body until his head returned the maroon sheets.  Great intro - there is a lot going on but when I read it slowly I could really appreciate all of the strong imagery. The "white sheets" have me confused - I can't work out what this is? If it was flaky dehydrated skin, I'd understand. But because it says "the" I'm thinking it is something different? Also - miasma of somnolence. My understanding of miasma is that it is an unpleasant smell. Upon googling, I realise it is also a atmosphere. Perhaps this is just my ignorance, but I wanted to let you know that it confused me for a second, just so that you have an outsiders opinion

-

He had gained consciousness again, a swathe of sterile bandages wrapped around his face, and his arms, and his legs. Fading in and out of consciousness, a translucent tube spiralled downwards, obscured by the face of a surgeon looking him in the eyes. The surgeons head moved, a bright, fluorescent light piercing his eyes, encompassing his vision as his head rolled back. The imagery here is clear and crisp. I really enjoy this. Although your first paragraph works, this also has merit for the fact that the imagery isn't deep and complex, but really explicit.

-

He sat upright in the hospital bed, scissors slicing through the bandage obscuring his face, then the bandage on his arms, then the bandage on his legs. As the feathery dressings floated to the floor, he opened his eyes, raising his arm into vision. A charred husk of its former self, patches of skin missing, surrounded by glossy black scar tissue. The nurse handed him a hand mirror, walking out with her head facing the floor. His eyes traced her outline, returning to the mirror that had grown heavier in his hand. The face that returned his glance was not his own, an amalgamation of scars and burnt tissue, as if someone had painstakingly dripped red candle wax onto his face. He threw the mirror away in disgust.  No major feedback here - I'm still following and I'm very engaged. I think the distinct breaks in the paragraphs work to make this very digestable!

Light drifted in through the window onto the shattered remnants of the mirror, catching a tear streaming down a man’s face, pooling in the shallow crevices hollowed out from his ghastly wounds. Something that has always stuck with me, that my own HSC teacher (also a HSC marker) taught me, is that the way people describe tears and crying is rarely original. Streaming down a face doesn't speak to me as being unique. This is such a small thing, of course. But I just want to let you know so that you have the opportunity to make this a particularly unique, stand out description, if you wanted to

-

He hobbled down the street, grey hoodie obfuscating his face as best as it could. The physiotherapist’s house was a block away, what felt like an eternity. Head facing the pavement, he couldn’t see the looks of disgust, the looks of pity, the looks of shame.

A distant wailing pierced through the barriers he built up. As the sound faded away, the images arose from their slumber, assaulting his mind all at once. A collage of pictures, the fire truck, putting on his fireman overalls, the burning house, the wooden stairs collapsing under his weight, losing consciousness as the flames began to lap at his face.

He turned and knocked on the door, a young lady greeting him with a smile. As his head lifted, her smile began to crack at the edges, fading through pursed lips.

-

Their meetings grew more frequent. He slowly gained mobility in his arms and knees again. He sat on a padded bench while she stood in front, slowly extending his knee. Searing pains sliced through his lower body, accompanied by a sharp inhale. She looked him in the eyes as she stopped the movement. The sun reflected of her brunette hair, catching the edges of her sky blue eyes. A small smile crept into the edges of her mouth while she looked at him. The first person in the passing months that didn’t look at him and recoil in disgust.

-

The frequent trips continued, the judgmental stares in the street continued, the harsh whispers continued and the haphazard eye contact grew more frequent. He walked down the street to her house everyday, careful to always wear a hoodie. The windows, the windscreens and the mirrors followed in his shadow every time he left, waiting for an opportunity to remind him of the shell of a man he had become.

Yet she stood at the door every visit, no longer appalled by the repulsive knots of intricately merged flesh that made up the entirety of his face. I think removing "intricately" would make this sentence clearer. I understand the intricate nature of it, but to me, "merged flesh" is more potent! Always with a smile, a genuine smile stemming from sincere kindness. He knew she was doing it out of necessity, yet the butterflies emerged whenever the edges of her lips reached up for her cheeks.  This is wonderful imagery of a smile - I have never come across it before. Magnificent!

-

The dim lighting in the bathroom dulled his features, the only hope for fostering a sense of self-confidence. He tightened the tie around his neck, the discoloured skin protesting against the soft fabric. The blazer felt foreign, grasping at the edges of his broad shoulders. With one last contemptible glance at himself in the mirror, he turned and left, grasping his pocket to make sure the movie ticket had not fallen out.

-

It was weird to start. He had associated her with pain, she always pushed him to stretch further and try harder. Now the physiotherapist stood in front of him, the movie had finished. The moonlight bounced across the trees, reflecting onto the wisps of her hair flowing in the cool midsummers breeze.

It was unnatural at first, but his lips began to creak and groan, working out the cobwebs of idleness. Curling at the edges, a smile began to cross his lips while he looked at her. An ephemeral gesture, the smile vanished as commotion broke out behind her. She turned, a reflective café tarp slowly drifted in the breeze, the moonlight emphasising his burn wounds. She turned around, his eyes had dropped to the floor.

He couldn’t comprehend why she was here. Was it out of pity? Was it out of a masochistic pleasure? He felt the breeze flow through his hair as a soft hand touched his jaw, beckoning him to lift his head.

She was there. She stood there, no other care in the world. He took it all in within a second, her soft features, the effulgence of the moon reflecting across her face, her sky blue eyes. Those two humble pools of water gazed up at him. She pulled him closer, his face centimetres from hers. Looking deep into her eyes, he saw the truth. She didn’t see his scars, she didn’t see the hideousness he knew, she only saw him.

Lips millimetres apart, they closed their eyes.

Wow!

Your story is very simple in its plot, it's very delicate. Your story relies on being enhanced by strong imagery, which you also definitely excel at. However, if I take one thing away from this essay as an improvement, is the use of complicated vocabulary that seems like it is being used for the sake of it. Perhaps this is language you use daily and frequently, in which case, they will be harder for you to identify. There are a few words that stick out to me as being used in a way that actually limits the effectiveness of the total imagery. As I pointed out, miasma, somnolence, obfuscating, are a few I'm pointing out. The imagery is so gentle yet vivid, and these words just jar it, in my opinion.

The discovery is clear here. A spiritual and emotional discovery is made here, very clearly. There are also many other elements of the rubric, such as the unplanned nature, yet also, the planned nature, of discovery. You should be very pleased with this work.

For the sake of proposing a challenge, I'm wondering what you would do if your stimulus required you to talk specifically about a physical discovery. I think with a few tweaks, you could definitely do it. What do you think? Have a look through the rubric and pick out a few pieces, and then apply it to your piece. I think you're at a stage before trials where you have the time to do this, to ensure that your story is as adaptable as possible!

Congratulations on a great piece. I hope to hear back from you

[Jimmy Barnes]

Thanks a tonne for the feedback, i appreciate it a lot and i'll be making a fair few edits then adapting it like you suggested

[elysepopplewell]

Thanks a tonne for the feedback, i appreciate it a lot and i'll be making a fair few edits then adapting it like you suggested

So glad to hear it! Can't wait to see what you come up with

[abradley]

Hi Elyse
I attended the ATAR Notes lecture at ICMS today and thought you were an amazing presenter with such useful and unique pieces of information. So thank you.
Anyway, I have a Discovery creative writing piece that I am struggling with and would absolutely love any feedback or suggestions you have to offer! I received 13/15 for it however am looking to make it better, particularly the conclusion. 
Thank you so much
Alex

[elysepopplewell]

Hi Elyse
I attended the ATAR Notes lecture at ICMS today and thought you were an amazing presenter with such useful and unique pieces of information. So thank you.
Anyway, I have a Discovery creative writing piece that I am struggling with and would absolutely love any feedback or suggestions you have to offer! I received 13/15 for it however am looking to make it better, particularly the conclusion. 
Thank you so much
Alex

Hi! I'm so glad you came along and enjoyed it, thank you so much for your kind words. It really means a lot to me!

I love that you received such a good mark but are looking to make it better still!
I'll definitely have a look now for you. Creative feedback is different to essay feedback in that I am likely to comment on areas of the text rather than specific sentences. You'll see what I mean

Your creative is in the spoiler here in its original form:

Spoiler

Fletcher the Flogger. Known throughout the fleet as “FF”- purposely hidden behind the cabin hatch- watched on sardonically as a fight between two cabin boys escalated to the point of bloodshed.
After years at sea, observing acts he considered unnatural, serving under a hierarchy that was rigid and resistant to change, FF had become what he once hated in others. A man with no empathy, a man with a short temper, and a man who relished power. The sea had been a hard master, totally indiscriminate. Short and stout, with a ruddy complexion, FF, ruled with authority based on fear. Step out of line and a brutal flogging would be pleasurably unleashed upon wayward sailor scum. As second in charge, every sailor was inferior to him, especially the blacks.
Fighting was not allowed on FF’s watch, but he still made a mental bet about the outcome of this fight. Either way, both would receive a twenty-five lashes. Ali, a crew member from North Africa, with few spoken words of English and skin as dark as night was considered the lowest of low aboard the vessel.  Ali winced, as the other cabin boy tackled him, a clean shoulder-to-shoulder hit, arching his spine. Punch after punch. Ali slumped on to the planks of the lower deck bleeding, but conscious, the smell of iron and blood overwhelming the ship's usual fetid odour.  Deserving. Wretched scum.
FF’s pleasure in Ali’s pain was interrupted by the raucous cry of a sailor---

“LAND! “Look! Over there!!” shouted the ship’s powder monkey, jerking “FF” back to reality. At last, there was the prospect of getting off this cursed ship if only for a short time. Turning starboard, he gazed out upon the horizon. It looked pleasant enough. Small trees at the edge of the coastline gave way to undulating hills covered in straggly growth interspersed with larger gums. Various species of birds wheeled overhead and plumes of white smoke presumably from cooking fires were evident along the river mouth.  The land was red, angry almost, and the sun high above him created a haze which seemed to entrap the passion welling up out of a sun-baked earth. Apart from the birds, nothing moved in the oppressive heat.  “FF” crossed himself, Limeys were not built for this kind of heat, he thought to himself, exhausted.

The Captain upon hearing the excitement roused his drunken mass onto the deck ordering a landing boat to be launched. “FF”, was to take command of the shore party and he quickly selected several crew members including the bruised Ali to man the oars. On command, the boat crew bent their backs.  Back. Forth. Back. Forth. The wind seemed to whisper their goal- ‘ land, land, land’. After what seemed like eternity, the small boat grounded to a halt. Determined to be the first ashore, FF leapt out of the boat with unusual haste only to trip and gash his leg on a concealed rock. The crew muffled their delight. Pain thought FF - just an illusory sensation that his mind could shut down. Put it aside he told himself. 
“Well…” muttered someone. The birds had stopped flying, the insects sought refuge elsewhere and even the leaves on the gum trees hung tired and limp.  Three figures, their shapes distorted by the heat, appeared from the undergrowth and approached the party.  “FF” noticed immediately that their skin was almost black.  Barbarians! Naked except for a rudimentary cloth tied around their loins and carrying long spears. Keeping his pistol close, FF surveyed the blacks. His heart now hammering like a piston in his chest as the overwhelming sensation in his leg distracted him from the task at hand.
Beads of sweat dotted his lip and a murky haze of black clouded his senses. FF collapsed. A native stepped forwarded. Reaching into his pouch secured around his waist, he withdrew a bunch of leaves, herbs and unrecognisable dried objects, pressing it into the open gash on FF’s leg. The crew looked on mesmerized. After what seemed like an eternity, FF roused from his daze and the ache in his leg had all but ceased.
FF bowed his head in a gesture of thanks. A wide smile lit up the black face opposite him. Contact had been made, a dialogue was in progress. He was taken back; perhaps these primitive people knew more than he thought.  As he caught the eye of Ali, and an almost imperceptible flash of understanding passed between them.
A fiery yellow orb of radiance slowly sank beneath the horizon, and threads of light lingered in the sky. The heat had dissipated and the clouds held the promise of a calm, serene night.  For perhaps the first time in his life, FF felt an inner sense of peace. A simple act of kindness made my someone who expected nothing in return. Respect. Strangely enough he felt at home in this foreign land.
Looking out towards the HMS bobbing up and down just beyond the breakers FF considered that perhaps, deep down they were all the same. Maybe they were people with feelings, with pride, with aspirations. Maybe colour did not matter. Maybe language was unimportant. Maybe power was irrelevant.
Looking out towards the HMS bobbing up and down just beyond the breakers FF considered that perhaps, deep down they were all the same. Maybe they were people with feelings, with pride, with aspirations. Maybe colour did not matter. Maybe language was unimportant. Maybe power was irrelevant.
CONCLUSION (desperately needs work to make better—more show and less tell— highlighting FF’s individual discovery which forces him to re-evaluate his narrow world view and question his own morality- A simple act of kindness made by someone who expected nothing in return, transforms his attitude and serves to inspire him, discovering that he is capable of acceptance and respect.
Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated….

Here, I'll post your creative again, but with my own comments written in bold throughout:

Spoiler

Fletcher the Flogger. Known throughout the fleet as “FF”- purposely hidden behind the cabin hatch- watched on sardonically as a fight between two cabin boys escalated to the point of bloodshed. I've read a lot of creatives, and so far none have been set at sea. So this is original already!
After years at sea, observing acts he considered unnatural and serving under a hierarchy that was rigid and resistant to change, FF had become what he once hated in others. A man with no empathy, a man with a short temper, and a man who relished power. The sea had been a hard master, totally indiscriminate. Gives me chills this sentence! Short and stout, with a ruddy complexion, FF, ruled with authority based on fear. Step out of line and a brutal flogging would be pleasurably unleashed upon wayward sailor scum. As second in charge, every sailor was inferior to him, especially the blacks.
Fighting was not allowed on FF’s watch, but he still made a mental bet about the outcome of this fight. Either way, both would receive a twenty-five lashes. Ali, a crew member from North Africa, with few spoken words of English and skin as dark as night was considered the lowest of low aboard the vessel.  Ali winced, as the other cabin boy tackled him, a clean shoulder-to-shoulder hit, arching his spine. Punch after punch. Ali slumped on to the planks of the lower deck bleeding, but conscious, the smell of iron and blood overwhelming the ship's usual fetid odour.  Deserving. Wretched scum. Fetid works - but I think you can do more here. So far the ship is described to me as manly, difficult, hierarchical, etc. But I'm yet to taste the salt water or smell fish scales, and I really want you to flesh this out and bring that to life more. It doesn't have to be in this moment in the text, but when I read "fetid" it made me realise that I'm yet to be taking on a journey of sea sickness, of scurvy, of tinned tuna. Giving the text this extra layer consistently throughout has the potential to gain you a whole extra mark, I believe.
FF’s pleasure in Ali’s pain was interrupted by the raucous cry of a sailor---

“LAND! “Look! Over there!!” shouted the ship’s powder monkey, jerking “FF” back to reality. At last, there was the prospect of getting off this cursed ship if only for a short time. Turning starboard, he gazed out upon the horizon. It looked pleasant enough. Small trees at the edge of the coastline gave way to undulating hills covered in straggly growth interspersed with larger gums. Various species of birds wheeled overhead and plumes of white smoke presumably from cooking fires were evident along the river mouth.  The land was red, angry almost, and the sun high above him created a haze which seemed to entrap the passion welling up out of a sun-baked earth. Apart from the birds, nothing moved in the oppressive heat.  “FF” crossed himself, Limeys were not built for this kind of heat, he thought to himself, exhausted.

The Captain, (comma) upon hearing the excitement, (comma) roused his drunken mass onto the deck ordering a landing boat to be launched. “FF”, was to take command of the shore party and he quickly selected several crew members including the bruised Ali to man the oars. On command, the boat crew bent their backs.  Back. Forth. Back. Forth. The wind seemed to whisper their goal- ‘ land, land, land’. Love this! After what seemed like eternity, the small boat grounded to a halt. Determined to be the first ashore, FF leapt out of the boat with unusual haste only to trip and gash his leg on a concealed I think this could be a better description. Perhaps a rock covered in shells, with periwinkles, moss. These are the small opportunities that I think you should take to set the scene more. rock. The crew muffled their delight. Pain, comma thought FF, comma - just an illusory sensation that his mind could shut down. Put it aside he told himself.  The second last sentence here is a little awkward, even with a comma splice. I didn't know the flow in which to read it.
“Well…” muttered someone. The birds had stopped flying, the insects sought refuge elsewhere and even the leaves on the gum trees hung tired and limp.  Three figures, their shapes distorted by the heat, appeared from the undergrowth and approached the party.  “FF” noticed immediately that their skin was almost black.  Barbarians! Naked except for a rudimentary cloth tied around their loins and carrying long spears. Keeping his pistol close, FF surveyed the blacks. His heart now hammering like a piston in his chest as the overwhelming sensation in his leg distracted him from the task at hand.
Beads of sweat dotted his lip and a murky haze of black clouded his senses. FF collapsed. A native stepped forwarded. Reaching into his pouch secured around his waist, he withdrew a bunch of leaves, herbs and unrecognisable dried objects, pressing it into the open gash on FF’s leg. The crew looked on mesmerized. After what seemed like an eternity, FF roused from his daze and the ache in his leg had all but ceased.
FF bowed his head in a gesture of thanks. A wide smile lit up the black face opposite him. Contact had been made, a dialogue was in progress. He was taken back; perhaps these primitive Not sure about the word primitive here. Because as they are called primitive, they are being realised are not primitive in the same sentence. Consider adjusting people knew more than he thought.  As he caught the eye of Ali, and an almost imperceptible flash of understanding passed between them.
A fiery yellow orb of radiance slowly sank beneath the horizon, and threads of light lingered in the sky. The heat had dissipated and the clouds held the promise of a calm, serene night.  For perhaps the first time in his life, FF felt an inner sense of peace. A simple act of kindness made my someone who expected nothing in return. Respect. Strangely enough he felt at home in this foreign land.
Looking out towards the HMS bobbing up and down just beyond the breakers FF considered that perhaps, deep down they were all the same. Maybe they were people with feelings, with pride, with aspirations. Maybe colour did not matter. Maybe language was unimportant. Maybe power was irrelevant.
Looking out towards the HMS bobbing up and down just beyond the breakers FF considered that perhaps, deep down they were all the same. Maybe they were people with feelings, with pride, with aspirations. Maybe colour did not matter. Maybe language was unimportant. Maybe power was irrelevant.
CONCLUSION (desperately needs work to make better—more show and less tell— highlighting FF’s individual discovery which forces him to re-evaluate his narrow world view and question his own morality- A simple act of kindness made by someone who expected nothing in return, transforms his attitude and serves to inspire him, discovering that he is capable of acceptance and respect.
Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated….

Okay great work! Seriously! There are some sentences that stick out so wonderfully, but at the same time, the story is never trying too hard. I think one area of improvement is setting the sea scene more. I know the discovery happens on land, but the important imagery gives significance to the part of the story that sets the foundation for discovery. I think the conclusion could be a reflection on the values held so strictly at sea, and how irrelevant they are in this new world. How the sea was a master teacher - this could be turned into a bit of a moral metaphor. You could suggest that the sea is an indiscriminate force. By this, I mean, the sea surrounds all people everywhere, and FF had a considerable connection to it. Each person, no matter the colour of their skin, would get knocked around at sea the same, everyone bleeds red, everyone cries tears. The sea is indiscriminate, and perhaps people should be too. When This is just an idea floating in my head, perhaps you don't agree with it and thats fine, this is your creative work! I think this would tie nicely into the conclusion. I'm interested to know what you think? We can flesh this out more if you like.

Also, FF. It sticks out to me. When I read FF's, I am sorry to say I read it as an acronym for, "For F**k's sake!" Now, I don't suggest a marker would read it like this, but it read awkwardly for me. I wasn't sure whether to read it as "F F" or "Double F" in my head. This isn't something that necessarily needs to change, but I'm giving you a reader's impression. Perhaps it would work to refer to FF as Fletcher occasionally throughout, or Fletcher the Flogger. This is just to remind the reader what FF stands for, because it is revealed so early on.

The discovery is strong in this! Physical, ethnographical, emotional, spiritual, intellectual. It is all there! I don't think you'll have trouble adapting this to the rubric at all! You should be really proud

Let me know what you think about the conclusion!