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Mod C samples w notes - Creative Piece HSC English Advanced
Course: advanced english (ENGADV)
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University: University of Sydney
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MOD C Question from CSSA 2020 Paper
“He listened to them all for another fifteen minutes… until he was overcome by the sensation that Life
was an enormous rucksack so impossibly heavy that, even though it meant losing everything, it was
infinitely easier to leave all the baggage here on the roadside and walk on into the blackness.”
Part A: Use this sentence as stimulus for a piece of persuasive, discursive or imaginative writing that
further evokes the emotion expressed in the extract. (10 marks)
… btw the “emotions” that I picked up on and noted during planning time were “realisation” and
“anagnorisis”. These are not really emotions, they are more like states, but I made it work :~)
He sat in a state of despair and defeat by the roadside, crouched in a dark, isolated corner beneath a
flickering streetlamp, head in arms, arms on knees. Past the roadside, the river carrying the remnants
of his story lay glistening under the soft, pale moonlight, the water moving in rhythmic, methodical
currents into the vastness of the remaining city. He imagined he could still see the embers and the
ashes those burnt pages left behind, but after all, he was imagining. His story, the sleepless nights, his
fingertips tapping away at the rusty keys of the typewriter, all gone. All gone to waste.
He listened to the voices in his head, as they persisted for the last fifteen minutes, the voices that
fought and reconciled, then fought and reconciled in his mind again. One of the voice’s was his
father’s, husky and filled with disappointment and resentment, telling him that he should have never
written the story. The story about his father and his endless struggles and violent experiences with
war. The other voice, gentle and feminine, with a hint of sadness, was more distant, Linda’s, his
girlfriend’s. She told him that he didn’t have to fight alone and that she would always be there to
support him and walk the path of Life, but only if he opened himself a little more. She began to cry in
his head, the soft, muffled sobs worsening his headache by the lonely roadside. Linda continued to
plead and ask him to get help, or rather, allow himself to be helped. The remaining voice was his own.
While the other voices talked nonsense and gibberish in his mind, his own voice let itself be
suppressed.
He looked up, squinting his bloodshot eyes into the distant river that carried his blood, sweat and
tears. Nope, the embers and ashes were gone. So was his father, who had burnt the story using a
homeless man’s lantern. His back was numb, not only from the cold, piercing wind clawing at his
short, dotted with ash and reeking of smoke, but also from the enormous rucksack he carried; Life
itself. It was so impossibly heavy, he concluded, by the roadside, as his father’s and Linda’s voices
continued filling and overflowing his mind. He concluded that this rucksack of Life was too heavy,
the childhood trauma, the poor relationships he had with people close to him, the extremely
suffocating expectations from his father – all of it was too much.
That’s when the voices in his head stopped. No more father. No more Linda. No more white noise and
empty cries. It was silent. There, by the roadside, he suddenly became overcome by the sensation that
the heavy rucksack of Life could just be left there, and it would simply be infinitely easier to leave all
the baggage and walk into the blackness. The blackness of a new life. An empty rucksack that is
easier to carry on his back. He would leave it all behind and forget it all, just like his forgotten story
now contained within the river, and he would start over. Yes, he’d walk on into the blackness, but
whether it be black or white, an empty canvas is still an empty canvas, he thought with a smile.
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