Laurels Literary Magazine Spring 2016 Valentine Zine | Page 17

Valentine Sampler -- Laurels 2016

we who enjoy the taste of battle, who live for besting a
worthy foe—fighters, ought not to die but in combat. But
look at me, stricken with illness! And do we go on to join
the great warriors of history, to wrestle and drink for all
eternity? No! I can see Mawt’s hideous shadow come to
take my soul, like all before me . . . They lay us in a dark
and cold place to sigh in despair for all of time—a house
of dust . . . Inescapable. Prisoners of Nergal; will Humbaba
be my neighbor? Will he take revenge? Oh, how I wish for
Utnapishtim’s curse . . . .
Gilgamesh: dying men are compelled to comfort their
friends, to alleviate shared agony, but how can I tell you
not to despair when I myself am without hope? Disease
affects me no more; it is only this pain that I feel. The
horror. To be still—I cannot bear it.
Yes, I have been down there. It was before my time.
And you . . . you saved me. There is no saving me this
time. My hour has come. I am afraid . . . I am afraid . . . .
No.
That is not how my soul will remain. Gilgamesh, the
greatest swordsman, the best of kings . . . My friend, and
my brother . . . The chill of the underworld will not be felt
by me. Because a fire burns in my heart—that I am robbed
from being at your side . . . for the clash on the Long
Bridge. My flame will be guide for the lost, warmth for the
wretched of the Underworld.
My soul may be in your hands, Cursed Nergal, but it
will not be quelled.
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