Mighty Gilgamesh dreams a friend. Standing together the two prevail, but gods decree death. Struggle-seek, there is no why. Build cities, write stories: all must die.

“Tell me what the Underworld is like,” pressed Gilgamesh. “I cannot tell you,” Enkidu replied, “for you will weep. The body that you loved to hold is rotting there now.” Horrified, Gilgamesh asked about this person or that. “Have you seen the man who died suddenly? The famous warrior? The unburied corpse?” Enkidu had seen them all. “How about the man who had no one to mourn for him?“ ”No dog would eat the scraps that the unmourned man must eat.”