Gilgamesh journey to Death

A white mist covered the cracked grounds. Dark figures of birds, grafs and horses wandered in it. One dark figure was named Gilgamesh. He coiled on the ground, and thrust pinched his throat.

“You need to leave,” said an old-man. A thobe on his body, and a turban on his head. He leaned on to his staff. His dark figure approached him, then came a horn. A fifty story high curved ship followed the old-man. It’s great sail reached as high as the temples of Ishtar.

“I will not leave,” said Gilgamesh, “I will not leave until you tell me the secret to immortality.”

“Every creature must embrace death, child,” said Noah.

“You said you were more than nine hundred years old. How is it that you have lived so long?”

“I had a purpose,” he said, and a horde of horses ran in front of him. “To rescue a pair of every creature from my land.” An eagle screeched, and Gilgamesh looked up. The dark figures of two eagles flew above him. “And put them in a boat, so that they may be saved from the flood of our Creator's wraith. You serve no such purpose.”

“You speak of a God?”

“Yes.”

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“I’m a God too. Yes, I am. My friend, Enkidu was a Son of a God, but he died. We cannot die. I cannot die.”

“You will die, Son of Man.”

“I’m not a man. I’m a God.”

“You have trapped yourself here. You beg me to grant you the secrets of immortality. What kind of God are you?”

“They are gods who don’t know everything.”

“They are not Gods,” said Noah, and he walked right. “It is only what you call them.” He faded into the mist.

“No, wait, please.” Gilgamesh ran after him, but hunger eroded his legs, and he fell. Gilgamesh trembled on the ground while wild animals ran around him. “Why am I trapped here?" He said."Should a God not be able to get what he wants? No, no, I am a God. I will not die. I merely have to suffer for it, as so many of my ancestors had.”

“Child.” Noah drew near him. “I have a test for you.” He put down two clay pitchers filled with water. “Night approaches, my child. Stand up straight, and hold them each in your hands. If you don’t drop them until the next day, I will tell you what you want.”

Gilgamesh stood, and held one pitcher in his right and one, in his left hand. Their weight ached his fingers. The animals and birds faded into the mist as the light turned from white to orange, and then to black. His legs quaked, but he stood his ground. Thirst stabbed his throat, and pinched his eyes. His neck tightened, and his stomach growled, but he stood. Finally, his eyes pushed down like two boulders. His fingers numbed, and he fell asleep. The crack of the pitchers woke him.

“No, no, please, please.” He scruffed on the ground like a rat as the ground quenched its thirst.

“If the creator, the one and only, were to sleep for just a moment," said Noah as he drew near, "the heavens and the earth will fall like those pitchers. Go back, to your people, and to your friend. Find peace in the life that you have been given.”

Gilgamesh walked back, and back until days turned to weeks, and they too turned to months. He lost count after month three. His city came into view, with the temple of Ishtar at its middle. The mountains around the city bowed to its great dome. Enkidu’s grave lay near the front left tower of the city. He wanted to lay to rest with trees outside, not the lifeless bricks of the city. Gilgamesh stood before his friend’s grave, and a smile brightened his face.

“King Gilgamesh,” a man with a white shawl, and long black beard walked toward him. He leaned, and observed his face. “Oh mercy, of the Gods. You are alive. People started rumors that you died. But I believed, I believed! A God cannot die.”

“I’m not God,” said Gilgamesh.

“What?”

“My death has not come, but I patiently wait for it.”