Digging and digging to surface, but never emerging

Mating with one’s own mother

Being eaten by dog or other yard animal

Never-ending fall from tree as a nymph

Stuck in shell mid-molt

Emerge from ground, only to realize that it’s not the right year

Not knowing the song

Being chased by lawn mower

Slowly drowning in swimming-pool skimmer basket

Being captured and placed in mayonnaise jar with handful of torn grass, twig, and cup of water

Being captured and placed in same jar as above, only without air holes punched in jar lid

Uncomfortable extended existential conversation with one’s own shell

Late for spawn—all the hot cicadas are taken

Mandibles loose and/or falling off

and, most common:

That one where you’re flying