Summary: An alternate universe where Heather McNamara swallows the pill.

(Warning: Dark themes dealing with suicide and depression. Of course there is, this is Heathers we're talking about.)

dear diary,

she's getting weaker everyday. she's getting paler every second.

her usual grace disappears, and her confidence crashes as she tries to fly high just as she did when heather chandler was still alive.

her foot gets caught on a another foot sticking out and she pitches forward bonelessly. she catches herself as she hits the ground and she tries to scowl before seeing everybody's gazes on her.

laughter rings in her ears as she reddens with embarrassment and stumbles her way down the hallway.

once upon a time, before we came to the hell called high school, i used to believe that all things could be beautiful, no matter how far it could get.

"oh, look!" someone jeers at her in the suffocatingly large crowd looming over her. "heather's about to cry!"

no, she convinces herself that she wouldn't.

but i question myself too sometimes...

her hands are shaking, her walk is wobbly. to where she's supposed to go, she had no idea. she feels eyes on her everywhere. she hears a voice, chanting.

"crybaby." they taunt her.

because before all this drama, all this tragedy, everything...

she's standing in a restroom. presumably still in westerburg high. she takes one look at the cracked glass, the dirty tiles and the odor. yes, she's still in the hell called westerberg high.

she gazes at her reflection. a girl wearing her own face and her own signature yellow clothes stares back at her. but she's not her. her yellow color seems... faded, somehow. muted. different.

i was a heather. one of the three heathers, in fact. we once ruled this school.

her hands shake as she grips the sink so tight that her knuckles turn white.

she opens her mouth. i'm not you, she wants to tell the girl in the mirror.

i wanted to be different, somehow.

she reaches into her blazer's pocket and pulls out a small bottle of... whatever. she doesn't know what. she just took it from her father's medical cabinet. she doesn't care what it is.

she just cares if it's the thing that'll give her peace.

and i got what i wanted.

she unscrews it, but her eyes flicker up to her own reflection, to see silent tears streaming down her face that she didn't notice.

but i didn't want to be special. not this kind of different.

her gaze turns back to the label. lethal effects of overdosing is the only thing she reads. everything else is blurry.

when did the world turn blurry?

it's why i'm questioning myself now...

she counts the pills slowly. one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven pills turn up in her hand.

she turns back on the mirror, not willing to see herself beg to stop this, you don't have to do this. she tilts her head back and her hand holding the pills slowly rises.

how far will i have to go to find my limit for forgiveness or redemption?

she swallows them and her body wracks with sobs and she slowly loses control of her conscious.

signed,

the darkness instantly takes her, her vision goes black, her body goes slack and she lurches.

heather mcnamara.

(and by the time veronica sawyer flings the door open to see heather's body falling into oblivion, she's already out before she even hits the unforgiving coldness of the tiles of the restroom floor.)

I'm not bashing Heather M. here. On the contrary, she's my favorite character. It's a heather comp on Quotev that says we had to make an alternate timeline for our favorite character so... boom!