Friendly Fire

Tonisha turned sixteen years old on the same day, that her mother lived her last day on earth.

It was not a cloudy day. It was not a gloomy day. As a matter of fact, the sun was exceptionally bright that day. There was laughter in the air all around them. The birds were chirping and the bees were buzzing. Tonisha and her mother were swinging in a hammock on the nicely manicured lawn that wrapped around their nicely maintained white pillar mansion. Inside of the gated community that contained million dollar estates. Tonisha’s father was an ambassador for a foreign country and had been paid exceptionally well for his service. So, well, that he had managed to maintain two households on his seven-figure salary. Up until two years ago the secret of his secret life had stayed under wraps. That was until a nosey journalist started investigating him during a very controversial foreign article. And suddenly Mr. Oguli’e and his entire life were under friendly fire.

Once the press took a hold of her husband’s dirty laundry and repeatedly displayed it on every social network and national news station, she never watched the evening news again. Nataki Oguli’e first learned of his disrespect and infidelity while browsing her timeline on her favorite social media site. She was appalled when she realized even her friends were firing shots in the form of jokes. She even contacted one of her friends and asked, “how could you make memes about my personal life and post them on social media?” Her friend responded in a chat saying “Calm down! It’s just friendly fire.

Tonisha never responded to any of the taunts on the internet. She never commented when the media stalked her at school. The main question they asked was how she felt when she learned that she had three siblings her father had been hiding for over twelve years? Really? Tonisha thought. The memes on her timeline got to be a bit much so she deactivated all her social media accounts. She didn’t want to be a victim of their friendly fire.

Her father moved out the house at the request of her mother. There were never any words spoken on the matter. He just came home to a U-Haul truck parked outside the gate to the home. The gate codes along with the security guards had been changed. The new security guards were armed and smile less. They knew his name but did not speak it. After all, he was no longer the King of this castle. He had been replaced by a rulership of Queens. No kings allowed. He had lost that right the first time the media spoke of his indiscretions and he allowed his wife to be shot by their friendly fire.

On the other side of town, the family there was dealing with a few bullets of its own. Although the woman in that house was aware of Mr. Oguli’e marital status. She never shared that tad bit of information with his children. Her children. Their children. So, when the bullets in form of memes started to fly across his other daughter Fatima’s timeline she just ducked out of sight to avoid the hits.

At thirteen years, old social media was her best friend. Until those same friends started firing jokes, sharing news reports, and creating memes of her mother being a high paid side chick (whore). She tried to call her father the morning she woke up and was hit with all the random taunts. She ran to the living room to tell her mother of the lies being spread on social media about their family. As she came down the steps she found her mother crying on her knees as she watched the morning news in horror. Not only was her perfect dad being revealed as the not so perfect father from across town. His career was undergoing investigation as well. It wasn’t long before his seven-figure career was blasted out the water or bank as some would say. Not only had Mr. Oguli’e decided to take on an extra wife, set of kids and home. He also took on extra income. Over the past ten years, the *Mister* had accumulated over thirty-five million dollars in assets, foreign gifts, artifacts and cold hard cash.

As he walked into the director of foreign affairs office today he felt ashamed. Over the years they had mixed their families together for several off the record events. From backyard bar-b-que’s, yacht parties and even a few cruises to the Caribbean. There was nothing friendly spoken in his boss office today. The meeting was short and to the point. “Mr. Oguli’e the indictment will be filed over the next week. Your passkey and all access codes have been changed. Security will walk you out. You are fired and unfortunately, our friendship has ended as well.

Over the next six months *the mister* spent a lot of time at his bayside condo painting and doing figurines. He lost all contact with the outside world. He grew a beard and his hygiene was at an all time low. He decided to spend his days and nights working on his favorite hobbies. Life-size figurines and paintings. He painted pictures of all his kids and both of the women in his life.

On the morning of the seventh month and the day before his trial began the police received a frantic 911 call from the next-door neighbor to his wife’s estate. When the police pulled up they saw the two security guards dead at their post. Smoke was coming from a pit outside. The strangest part was there were people sitting very still on the lawn. There were two people swinging in a hammock and appeared to be holding hands. It was a life-size figurine of his wife and daughter. In hindsight, Tonisha spent her last day on earth with her mother. The police were taken aback by the human-like form, they could barely focus on their surroundings.

Just as they looked around to see all the other forms of his *another * family they noticed the figurine of his boss. The flesh burning in the large cylinders around the yard were burning their eyes so badly it was hard to focus on the live figurine that was standing in the middle of the yard pulling the trigger next to his head. Mr. Ogulie figured if he was his own and only best friend and If he was going to be shot today he preferred it to be friendly fire.

This man was definitely, write for the kill…..But his families were not.

2 thoughts on “Friendly Fire

  1. My, my, Mrs Scott, very well done again. I cldnt stop reading this once i started. Cant wait fir the nxt book…


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