One by one, they drop dead, wherever they happen to be when their bodies give out. The stench is sicky-sweet, disgusting, unbearable. As you walk along the sidewalk, you add to the nauseating smell with each step by crunching the guts of dead cicada bodies into odiferous mush. Maybe hallucinations are sometimes bearable. Did Dr. Stephens really like cicada summers, he wondered.
Happiness comes with the achievement of a desired goal.
Millions of tiny eggs, nestled deep in stems and trunks, slowly awaken from their 17-year sleep.