A Bicycle Criticises Concorde For Not Observing Butterflies

A Bicycle Criticises Concorde

For Not Observing Butterflies

Reading a fiction, set in Samurai Japan, I met
a hundred men, neatly, on a beach: suicided.

They were betrayed, not by their leader, who let
an enemy ooze behind their lines, but by their author.

"So what?", you may say. "They're only characters:
if that", you might add. "Hardly worth their sentence."

But had any one, dead to sharp that moment's shock, lived
beyond their author's knots; they could be: what?

Perhaps these unborn, having snatched creation for such an callous
blink, deserved assassination; they could have chosen better.

The film was quite successful.