An army of death stalkers invade the barren room behind me, crawling and creeping and brushing against the outer wall. I do not see the multicolored scorpions.

Hunched over in this tiny tomb of metamorphosis, inside the I.C.U., I gaze at you, my moribund friend. And I fall into an abyss. This is our farewell reunion.

Pale gold, brown black, dark yellow, green, and tan scorpions move surreptitiously around the soul-stealing room. I can’t see them.

I close my weary eyes. And now, the scarabs, huge black-shelled beetles emerge from a terrible nothingness and roll your spirit out of your mortal body.

I watch from the unbearable emptiness of the abyss. Is this some old punishment for man’s sin? What crime did we commit? None, I protest inside this cold room.

I sit still, my eyes shut tight, as a death mosaic of scorpions and scarabs and ghostly soul appears. This final tessellation overwhelms me.

And when I open my tearful, tired eyes, I say goodbye, old buddy, for death is the price we pay again and again for this miracle of life and the magical universe of love, lent to us for an earthly nanosecond.