Mushroom cloud. In the mid-ground the Bay is boiling. A line of refugees seeks escape beyond the ridgeline.
Your mother can't make it. Old, fat, emphysemic. Halts by the trailside, sits on a flat rock. Nods encouragement, smiles. You go on, I'll stay here.
Should you stay? Your friend is pregnant. The choice is: future, or past.
You choose future. Nodding, you leave her behind to die passively, seated and waiting, as she lived much of her life.