There’s a sparrow dead on the pavement outside.

The people pass it by and pay no mind to such an inconvenience—naturally. They are people, and this is a bird. The simple order of life should be obvious. People eat birds, don’t they?

Here lies Sparrow, whose life made no difference. Had she survived, no one would have taken notice. Only in death is she recognized by anyone. Even in death, she is ignored by the vast majority. Tomorrow, anyone who recognized Sparrow will forget her. Such is the fate of such a small animal.

A custodian scrapes the sparrow off of the pavement with something metal that dwarfs the bird. She vanishes from sight and is transported to her final resting place. There, she can sleep invisibly, just as she lived.

There’s a sparrow dead in the dumpster outside.