So, it had come to this again.

Once again, this life had become too mundane for him to live on.

Well, he had to admit that last week's History lesson was particularly interesting. He actually got to use a recipe he learnt from Home Economics at home. He and his parents went to go see the new exhibition at the museum the other day. All these little things managed to get him to cling onto this choice a little longer.

Just a little.

He closed his eyes and felt the wind howl under his feet. The overwhelming feeling of death being this close, this breathable, this reachable, never failed to keep him humoured. The whole world was at the bottom of his feet, going on, moving on.

And yet, it still seemed… monochrome.

Monochrome. It was no different from the other times. The world looked black and white, even though in full vibrant colour in front of his eyes, to him in his final breathing moments.

How disappointing. No matter how many times he tried to carry out each of his actions differently, it always crunched down to the same old ending. Just like reading the same old story over and over. Even when the main hero dies before the story ends, reading it over and over won't change the fact the character died. He will always be dead as he author intended him to be.

That was why he always shed his skin.

Even this gift bored him. His life could be thrown away according to his whim as he liked, and he could just create a new 'him', with traits different from his past selves. That's why his teachers often wrote 'daydreaming' in his report card (there had been cases where he managed to avoid this). He had been thinking about how his next self would be like.

He had decided about a month ago that his next self would be a young ball of energy. He would be involved in a car accident in the year he's six, on 27th July, 1.08pm, on the day he's going to visit his uncle, and he'll lose his left arm. He would get a prosthetic one, and even with his disability he would be well-liked. Oh, maybe his classmates could die and give him a hand—literally.

Amusing.

He really liked playing around with his body. He once had him reborn with bad legs (he was exempted from every PE lesson). He once did away with one hand, but grown bored quickly. And once he was reborn with brain damage. It wasn't too bad. In contrast, he had existed as a child prodigy as well.

So many prospects.

He already had his life laid out for him.

All he had to do now was jump.

Erase away all he ever had. Leave behind his parents and friends and just make new ones.

He will fall down from this very building and within 20 minutes a police investigation team will come. They will tell his parents that he accidentally slipped and fell on the highest floor while chasing a pigeon hybrid (he had stocked up books on birds and left pictures and bits of information all around the household). Accidental suicide. As simple as that.

With that, he closed his eyes and jumped, making sure that it seemed his feet scraped off the ledge.

Bye bye.

And with that, it all ended.

A/N: This is short story, partially based on many fiction derivatives on rebirth and god-like powers. I decided not to name the character for now, to let him seem more mysterious. However, he's 16 when he dies here (he's probably around that age or if not a few years elder when he dies previously). He ends his life whenever he wants and just reborn again to live a life different from the previous ones. It somehow makes him seem lonely.