The missing bottle in the six pack.

The boy, although cursed, had a talent. Whether it was an evolutionary glitch or a by-product of his dance with the stars, he would never know. The boy could die by sheer force of will.

If it was quiet enough, and dark enough, the boy could call a sudden end to his existence.

First he would close his eyes and picture his heart in his mind. Breathing deep and slow, he would imagine his heart slowing down. Thump, thump. Thump. Thump. Thump...thump. Thump......thump. Th-

It was done.

What came next was nothing.

Blackness. Nonexistence. What dreams might come...who knows?

Then, the last star to cross him would pass to his hemisphere. The last curse, the strongest one, was from the star his planet circled. It was the curse of morning, of renewal, of rebirth.

The boy could never die for long. Eight or ten hours at the most. And if the window was open, and you could see the other stars, twinkling with laughter like those that know how the joke ends.