On my birthday, my best friend gave me a Polaroid camera. I turned around and took the film straight to the zoo.
I took beautiful pictures of monkeys, wild boars, and bears.
In my previous life, after accepting the Polaroid and film she gave me, I happily took pictures of my whole family.
But a week later, my mother was in a car accident and died despite treatment.
My father suddenly had a stroke. The hospital saved his life, but half his body was left paralyzed.
The company I managed also ran into trouble and teetered on the brink of bankruptcy.
In just a month, my hair turned white, my face became covered in countless wrinkles and swollen scars, and I gained the kind of weight everyone called stress weight.
My boyfriend said I brought bad luck, that my awful fate had ruined my family, and dumped me in a hurry.
I confided in my best friend, only to discover that somehow she'd come into a fortune worth tens of millions, and her parents, who'd spent years in the hospital, had recovered completely, as if they'd never been ill.
Under the double blow, the last of my resolve broke. In a daze on my way to the hospital, I was hit and killed by a car.
Only after I died did I learn that the root of all my troubles was the Polaroid my best friend had given me, and that the two of them had been in contact behind my back all along.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my best friend gave me the Polaroid.
