The Purloined Song
It is obvious that any effort to tamper with time, the past, whatever was, is not merely speculative but, in prospect, harmful. For the speculative is no less real than the keys I am tapping. The mind rules even though the patterns are fixed. To rail against reality is, may I suggest, real.
Thus preambled, I can introduce you to Ponsonby Mole, the never do well. I stumbled, I forgot about the apostrophes. You know what I mean. Ponsonby is one of those sorts who have inherited money. He lives on a high floor of the Stanhope. A Candela building. That said, he is not a creature of ostentation or even a snob. He just does what is easiest. The rest of his time is spent entertaining notions.
That is what this story is about. What if, Ponsonby thought, turning over a piece of grapefruit with a silver spoon, what if a song was removed from the universe. The thought at first tickled him. But after a day it became insistent. He realized that if a song was removed it could affect everything, quite literally. He kicked himself whenever this particular thought rose up. Was it literally true that a song could, by its absence, wreak havoc with life as it was. It did not have to be DONE. It merely had to be imagined. To establish the truth of the proposition. Remember what we said about reality!