The Novel Without a Name

It was an odd feeling to watch your own death over and over.
It was even odder to watch the red that spilled from my gut as my very own son struck me. He had buried the sword up to the hilt into my chest. It's slim silver blade was dipped with a deep rustic red that oozed over his slim fingers. My knees would buckle and I'd fall to the ground. My son would turn me around and hold my face in his hands. Hatred was far beyond him, which surprised me the first time I saw this happen. One would expect his features to be shook with such wrath but instead his young face held sorrow.
"I am so sorry father, I've been given no choice but to do this. I swear to you I will find a way to bring you back. Just you wait father. I won't let your death be a stud in our family's history." His well toned skin was streaked with tears.
"I trust in your decision Hanson. I trust in you." My dying words. I do wish I could've said more. Soon after he would be placed as king. I had never gotten to see him be crowned, I only wish that this memory of my death would stop playing over and over. It's enough to make a man go mad. Who's to say I haven't already? I float in a small space of existence here by my bones. It feels as if I have been here for centuries. Only my memories aid my sanity in this small space. How do I know I'm not imagining this after life? I'd sigh about these facts if only I could.
For now I waste away here in my crypt. It's dusty grey bricks crumble and smother some of the bones sleeping in their tombs. Shortly my own bones will become nothing more than dust. Oh how long have I waited here?