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