Stubborn Girl Won’t Stop Telling Lies Until She’s Taught A Bitter Lesson…
The Day Suzu’s Mouth Jammed Transformer
In the last house on Element Street lived Suzu, a girl who treated social media like a full-time, high-volume sport. Within two weeks of moving in, her voice—loud, sharp, and usually laced with gossip—was the most popular sound on the block. Suzu’s phone was her megaphone, her ring light a permanent fixture, and her famous catchphrase, “I am in my house, come and beat me,” was a reckless dare she threw at the world.
Suzu’s “content” was the misery and secrets of others. She had dragged a rising musician for borrowing slippers, accused an actress’s husband of having “unclean money,” and even mocked a neighbor for buying a generator on credit, laughing wildly and saying, “Imagine buying generator on hire purchase! If you owe rent, landlord will just come and carry it!”
Neighbors warned her. Her own mother begged her to “mind her tongue.” But Suzu only smiled, adjusted her wig, and insisted, “Mama, it’s just content. I am building my brand.” She felt untouchable, believing her obscure street address shielded her from any real-world consequence.
The Cruise That Capsized
Suzu’s downfall came when she decided to make Patience her subject. Patience was the opposite of Suzu: quiet, hardworking, and successful in silence. For her birthday, Patience hosted a lavish but private party, where videos and pictures of the celebration—complete with food, drinks, and Naira notes spread across the floor—flew online.
Suzu saw her opportunity. She went live, slanting her wig and dramatically whispering into her camera, “Birthday not even reach 10 hours… Food everywhere… But my question is: From where? Sugar daddy sponsor am! Don’t argue with me, argue with your keypads. Small girl with big God? Nah, big uncle with big pockets!”
While her followers cheered her on, a few warned her: “This lady you dey talk about no be any small girl, oh! She fit arrange boys trace you!”
Suzu’s reply was predictable: “Trace me? I beg! I am in my house! If e pay you, come and beat me!”
Delivery Order Reached Location
Patience, who was scrolling through birthday wishes, stumbled upon Suzu’s live rant. At first, she was shocked, then a slow, dangerous smile curved her lips. She had seen Suzu once before, standing outside a gate on a street she knew. The pieces clicked into place.
“You say you are in your house, abi? Good. Let me come and greet you there,” Patience whispered to herself.
That Saturday afternoon, as Suzu was outside, sipping Fanta and loudly mocking a celebrity’s car on a new live video, the compound gate creaked open. Patience walked in. She was not loud, but she was purposeful, dressed in a fitter top, her phone already recording.
Suzu froze, stammering, “Huh! Birthday Patience, is this not a mistake? What are you doing here?”
Patience smiled sweetly. “No mistake. You said you are in your house, that if e pay me, I should come and beat you. Well, here I am to do as you wish.”
Neighbors peeked from windows, whispering: “The prophecy has come to pass!”
Patience commanded a child to hold the phone to capture the moment. Suzu’s usual arrogance dissolved into frantic stammering. “Ah! No, no, no, no, no! It’s not like that, oh! It’s just cruise!”
Just as Suzu was trying to claim it was all a joke, Patience swung her hand. The slap landed like a heavy thunder on Suzu’s face. She followed it with another blow that sounded like “when Moses struck the rock,” shifting Suzu’s mouth to one side.
In a matter of two minutes, the famous, loud Suzu was beaten so badly she was flat on the ground, looking like an “old Dunlop slipper.” Patience had deliberately targeted her mouth, the source of all her trouble.
The live video went viral. Comments flooded the screen:
“So all this ‘come and beat me’ finally met delivery order!”
“From gossip minister to emergency patient.”
“Patience pressed her mouth reset button! Now Suzu dey speak in italics.”
The Silence of Shame
Patience only stopped when Suzu confessed, crying and throwing her hands up, “I lied, oh! She worked hard for her birthday money! No sugar daddy anywhere! I will not do it again, please forgive me!”
The compound people, tired of Suzu’s endless lies, refused to let her off the hook. The landlord’s wife, the man whose generator she gossiped about, and the single mother whose daughter she mocked all came forward to expose her lies publicly.
One woman delivered the final blow: “From today, if you ever gossip about anybody in this compound again, we will form a TikTok account and do live video against you! We will show your dirty bedroom, your unpaid bills, and the beans you cook seven times a week!”
Patience ended the live and gave Suzu a final, chilling threat: “If I ever hear my name from your mouth again, I promise you the next live video will end with a funeral.” She then walked out like a victorious general.
That night, for the first time since she moved in, Suzu’s room was quiet. The ring light sat dark in the corner. Her phone was silent. The girl who once dared the world now tiptoed around her own compound, meekly greeting her neighbors and offering to help them carry buckets.
Suzu had learned the hard way that the freedom of the internet does not cancel the laws of the real world. Her tongue, which had no break, was finally tied, not by a chain, but by the heavy weight of shame and fear. She had discovered that words, like bullets, cannot be taken back, and sometimes they bounce back to wound the reckless speaker.
