Death Comes to Fluffy

Fluffy knew he was going to die. Oh yes.
It was his 4th week in the machine and The Hand had not even come close to grabbing him. He had lost 13 comrades so far to The Hand, but it was Pinky he missed most.
"Don't forget meeee!" Pinky had screamed as The Hand had plucked him like a ripe melon and tossed him into The Hole.
Fluffy fought back tears as he saw The God who had taken Pinky stuff him into a bag and take him away.
"Why are we here?" a young cow mooed in despair, pushing against the invisible edges of their world.
"Be quiet," a blue creature simply known as Cookie growled. "We must fight with our last breath, and never complain. Death comes only to the cowards."
Sometimes The Hand would only threaten to grab them, driving the newer ones into a terrified frenzy. Nobody knew what happened when The Gods took them, only that no one had ever come back. Ever.
"And then," the oldest comrade, a purple and orange frog named Ribbit croaked, " And then if you are not Taken, Death comes for you with his flashing scythe and you are gone and there are new brothers in your place." True enough, when they all woke up the next day, he was gone and a brand new handsome brown bear named Cuddles was in his place.
Fluffy knew now not to get too attached to his brothers in arms. They were taken from him one by one and he was left with apathetic strangers, now the oldest one at 5 months. Sheep, all of them, complacently sitting in place until The Hand took them. Not caring at all, content to sit there and look cute and cuddly. No amount of speeches would get them to care. All Fluffy's brothers were gone.
Fluffy knew he was going to die. The Hand paid him no attention at all.
He looked up at The Hand.
And then Death arrived.