My Blood Runs Cold Issues

The Question

Eternal
It has nothing whatsoever to do with any song. "My blood runs/ran cold" was a common saying long before the song came around; that's where the lyric came from.

http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/blood+run+cold

The title is a twist on that meaning and a description of the main protagonist's character arc, which goes from that meaning to the meaning of the phrase "cold-blooded".

(I know, you're trolling. And here I am counter-trolling with an actual, serious answer. :p )
 

'Gear

RIP 1970~2018
Lol@The Saint's fucking lame title.

And Lol@The Saint's fucking lame explanation of his fucking lame title.

Try hard shit is shit.
 

Loktar

Pinata Whacker
It has nothing whatsoever to do with any song. "My blood runs/ran cold" was a common saying long before the song came around; that's where the lyric came from.

http://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/blood+run+cold

The title is a twist on that meaning and a description of the main protagonist's character arc, which goes from that meaning to the meaning of the phrase "cold-blooded".

(I know, you're trolling. And here I am counter-trolling with an actual, serious answer. :p )

THERE ARE SERIOUS ANSWERS IN TROLLING! SIT IN A CORNER AND WATCH VIDEOS OF GTURDNER AND VOLPWNED SUCKING EACH OTHER OFF AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU SAID!
 

The Question

Eternal
But on a more serious note, this:

And now there’s someone standing beside me while I sit here on this cold, hard wooden seat. I don’t want to look. I can’t not look. It’s her. Kellen McPherson was her name. She’s just standing there looking at me. There’s a dime sized hole in her forehead still. There’s tears on her cheeks. There’s tears on mine, too. I thought I had run out of tears, but I always find more when she comes calling.

“I’m sorry, Mister.” she says. “I didn’t mean it. Honest I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

My heart is clenched as tight as a fist, and there’s another one forming in my throat. I know how this parley goes. It goes the same way every time. I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it. I earned it. I have it coming. “Didn’t mean what, little angel?” I ask.

“The bad thing.” she sniffles and wipes her nose on her forearm. “I don’t know what it was, but I musta done a bad thing to make you shoot me like that. I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t mean it.”

I can’t hold out any more. I drop my face into my hands, and both those fists knot up until they’re as small and hard as the bullet that took that innocent life. I feel her hand on the back of my head. She’s dead, and I’m the miserable god damned son of a bitch who killed her, and she’s trying to comfort me. She just keeps whispering, “I’m sorry, Mister. I’m sorry.”

I’ll never be done being sorry.
 
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