Epic of Gilgamesh

I am not a book with soft paper pages that flutter in the wind. I am something much, much older. Imagine soft, squishy clay, like mud you can play with. A long, long time ago, someone patted me flat and smooth. Then, with a little pointy stick, they gently poked tiny triangle marks all over me. Poke, poke, poke. Each mark was part of a secret. After all the marks were made, I rested in the warm sun until I became hard and strong. I am a very special story, waiting for thousands of years to tell you about a big adventure.

My name is the Epic of Gilgamesh. I tell a story about a very strong king who lived in a big, shiny city. His name was Gilgamesh. He was the strongest person in the whole world, but he was a little bit lonely. He wished he had a best friend to share his snacks with and go on adventures. One day, a new friend arrived. His name was Enkidu. He was strong and wild and loved to run with the animals. Gilgamesh and Enkidu met and became the bestest of friends. They laughed and played and decided to be heroes together, always helping each other be brave.

My story was written down for children like you more than 4,000 years ago. That is a very, very long time. It happened in a sunny land called Mesopotamia. People wanted to make sure that the wonderful story of Gilgamesh and his friend Enkidu would be remembered forever. That’s why they wrote me on strong clay. Even though I am very old, my story about friendship is still told today. I am here to remind you that the best adventures are the ones you share with a friend, and stories help us remember those happy times forever.