Frozen Custard

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 I stood there where accusations were hurled at me like like daggers. I kept thinking to myself ‘I didn’t do this!’ ‘It wasn’t me!’ But they wouldn’t have it. On and on and on and on. In the end I just wanted to shut them up. Their eyes demanded repentance for sins I never committed. Forced into a show of remorse I definitely didn’t feel, I gave up. I mouthed the hollow words they expected.


Well that was mistake. The room echoed with their disdain, their satisfaction in my submission was, to say the least, limited. Now I was a puppet on strings, dancing to the tune of their unfounded accusations. There were more accusations attached to the first - well, if you did that it was obviously you who did this . . . I was forced to cop for the lot. But I can tell you for nothing, each apology dripped with bitterness, a taste of resentment on my tongue. Oh, and were they happy with that. Not a bit of it. Self-righteousness doesn’t even go halfway there.


The tossers. They were relishing my humiliation. The truth was irrelevant; my innocence was inconsequential. The demand for contrition echoed louder than any plea for justice. Their collective judgment held me captive, an unwilling participant in this dance of the dismal.


I was so sick of it. My eyes met theirs, searching for a glimmer of reason, a flicker of empathy. But nothing. Instead, I found only smug satisfaction and what I swear was aperverse pleasure in my discomfort. They fed on my forced admissions of guilt, savouring the delicious irony of innocence condemned. ‘Oh we’re so wonderful. We’re so good. We’re such puffed-up, self-opinionated, conceited cock-heads’.


But would they give over and leave it alone. Oh no. Still more, dredged up from who knew when. Stuff from before I ever even existed as far as I could see. They were properly having a vent now they’d started. And I just caved. Looking back now I’m amazed, but really, I just wanted a bit of peace. Fat Chance of that. I just had to gulp down that bitter cocktail of resentment and coercion. Chipping away at the remnants of my dignity. They were absolute vindictive sods. Talk about the sting of injustice, you have no idea.


And now they think they’ve got what they want.


But they don’t know me. They don’t know me at all. A dish best served cold? Standby for frozen custard inserted where the sun won’t thaw it out.


Much more of my stuff available at https://dailyprompt.page.link/X1qUyE2jz2gCFkzv5


Or see my book: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tall-Tales-At-Bus-Stop-ebook/dp/B0B135RB4D/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3TGEU7HM5LEKT&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.qR5g4YN8X07Isx3scRia7Ky1T06Wa16Wv8RPTZPVWmE.i4Nl12KZvWpS64bNLKk7PdE7r2WvoI8tsiTkFSJoMYQ&dib_tag=se&keywords=tall+tales+at+the+bus+stop&qid=1705598867&sprefix=tall+tales+at+the+bus+stop%2Caps%2C163&sr=8-1

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