London Bound. *new draft*

Fiction Friday’s loves a rewrite.

'Where do the ducks go?'

‘I am a hardworking and confident writer, looking to strive and learn within your team…’

I stared blankly at my computer screen as the cursor blinked away at me, daring me to carry on writing. Sighing, I threw my laptop off my lap and sat at the edge of my queen-sized bed, searching my room for a trigger of inspiration.

Even I wouldn’t hire me, I sound pathetic. After 119 job applications (no seriously, it’s been that many), I have officially lost faith in my ability to be a journalist and of course, in my general self-worth. I am just going to have to be an intern forever. A penniless, coffee-grabbing, errand-running intern; forever. People can survive in London on just £750 a month, right? Who am I kidding, most people pay that per week in rent here. I am totally screwed.

“I will not call my parents, I will…

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