I DON'T OWN HEATHERS. THIS IS A FANFIC THAT SHOWS WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE IF HEATHER CHANDLER REALLY WAS THE ME INSIDE OF ME FOR SOMEONE. THIS IS A COMBINATION OF THE MOVIE AND MUSICAL UNIVERSE.
Sherwood, Ohio. 1990.
If I sound weird, go easy on me. This whole "writing in a journal" thing is a new experience for me and I ain't quite sure that I have my bearings yet. This wasn't my idea by the way. My mom bought me this diary so I could "express my feelings about everything that happened. I wasn't ecstatic about the idea, but my parents said it was this or therapy. I might have taken therapy, if I had assurance that it wouldn't be with Ms. Fleming. After the killings started, she turned the whole freaking school into a some kind of 60's love in. I know that teachers deserve respect and everything. but if I can level with you for a second, the fact is...she don't know shit, that woman. Anyway, enough of this shit, let's get real. There is one name that has haunted me and probably will haunt me for the rest of my life: Heather Chandler. To everyone at Westerberg High School, she was the leader of the most popular clique in the school. She was the mythic bitch. She was a goddess. That's the Heather Chandler that they and most people knew. I however, remember her a little differently. You see, when I was little, my parents would go out partying and drinking and gambling a lot. As such, they needed a babysitter. They hired Heather Chandler. The Heather Chandler who babysat me was a completely different person than the Heather Chandler at school. Heather painted my nails, she put makeup on me, she gave me advice on how to get boys to like me. She played dress up with me. She made me supper, she read me stories, she sang lullabies, she tucked me into bed, and she snuggled with me until I fell asleep or my parents got home. Whichever came first. I told her once that I loved her more than I loved my own mother. When I said, that she got a weird look on her face. It was like I had made her happy and sad at the same time. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my mom. The thing is though...my mom thinks that she can buy my love with stuff. You just can't do that because in the long run, it'll come back to bite you in the ass. So, i've decided to write about what happened. For my own peace of mind. This is the story of Heather Chandler: The me inside of me.
NEXT TIME, WE GET A PEEK INTO HEATHER CHANDLER BEFORE SHE BECAME A BITCH. REVIEWS NEEDED.
