(A Story in 100 words)

'Choose one to go with you.' Death points at the crumpled car.

I watch the three bodies inside, mine ― still, and two others ― husband's and son's; both shaking and spurting blood.

'Please.'

'I must take two.'

'He's three. He needs a mother and his father would die without me.'

'Such vanity you humans have.'

Click ― A sphere appears.

'See their future.'

'I see him remarried, in bed with a new mother to my son, dreaming peacefully between them.'

'But you said two must go. How?'

'The second is your memory.'

She smiled. And died. Alone. With nothing behind.