The Epic of Gilgamesh

For seven days Gilgamesh would not bury his friend. He sat beside Enkidu's body, waiting for him to wake, and only when a worm fell from the dead man's face did the king of Uruk understand what death was. He had been two-thirds divine, terrifying, a tyrant who took the brides of his city on their wedding nights, until the gods shaped Enkidu from clay to be his match, and the two men fought and then loved each other like brothers. Now Gilgamesh runs. He crosses the desert in lion-skins, passes the scorpion-guardians of the mountains, rows across the waters of death to reach the one man who survived the flood and was granted life without end. He even finds the plant that restores youth, falls asleep beside a pool, and lets a serpent eat it. He comes home with nothing but the walls of his city. The oldest written story in the world was already about the only thing no power can buy: more time with the people we cannot keep.