Renville Cavalieri

My name is Renville Cavalieri, and my job in Hell is to stop people killing themselves.
I'm not very good at my job.
But then I met Anni Bay, and she is living hope, with a tendency of wandering into oncoming traffic and not eating for days, but when she does it's all pills.
And I'm going to find a way to save her, if it's the last thing I do.


1. Renville Cavalieri

To start off, when you die you’re going to notice one thing.

If you have any fat anywhere on your ribs or your stomach, you can pinch it and pull it out you’ll feel strangely lighter, so just imagine that all over your body. It feels a little like being able to float away, and that’s exactly why people think dying is like- floating off. And that’s what it is, leaving behind your body. So that’s what a soul is more or less.

Yes, I’m full of death tips and tricks.

(Also very fun at parties, I know).


Anyway, I’ll explain to you what the infinite nothing is like in a little better detail. It’s actually my job.

Well, not explaining death to the living, that's always an extremely boring job. My job is basically to live on in different bodies (all human bodies, don't worry), and give people a conscious.

What does this mean? Well I should probably start introducing myself, that'll help.


My name is Renville Cavalieri, but you're probably not going to remember that long ass name, don't worry. I know people well enough by now to not get offended by that.

I suppose it might be interesting to say that I am male and that I'm very lanky and have slick, black hair when I'm just the regular me. If you're wondering what I sound like imagine super-suave, rocker Boston boy from the 80's. Draped in leather jackets and red lipstick wearing chicks.

Also I'm thirty- and you might feel like putting this down now since I'm probably not date-able, but in all fairness I'm technically thousands of years old, so I think bridging the age gap should be the least of your worries.

Also, I’m dead so it would be pretty hard getting my phone number from all the way out here.

“But Renville” you say, “You said you were a smoking hot 80’s guy. How does that make you thousands of years old?”

Smart you, pointing that out. And since we’re being totally honest I’ll admit to you that I was actually a shoe maker in London back when there was Queens and beheadings and plague.

No, not fun.

But technically I lived longer in the 80’s then any other time so I think it’s alright that I say I’m a fairly legit rocker boy.


So how does this all work? Well if you’re reading this it means you’re alive (congrats!), or you’re like me.

(If you are like me, sucks, am I right? Phone me up, let me know how death is for you, because mine is not going well at all, fucking hell.)

But if you’re not dead like me I have to explain one thing.

I’m a sinner.

Wait, before stop reading this due to totally cringe character plots, it’s actually an important factor in my job.

See, if you’re a real bad sinner from your first life you can only get certain jobs in the afterlife. Most of these will punish you, like mine, or maybe you’ll be whip tester, or a slave for the Devil boss-man himself, or even an accountant (Terrifying. A fate worse than death).

But my job is pretty straight forward. I live on as an inner conscience, as I said before. Imagine I’m like a moral high ground. I’m that little nagging voice telling you what to do and what to not do.

Pretty simple job training actually:

A: Don’t walk off that cliff.

B: Don’t punch Jim, even though he’s being a little bitch.


I would say I’m a little like self help, except if it was all that simple all those people I killed’s lives would have been unavenged.


See, you never listen to that nagging feeling. Admit it, you’re totally putting something off right now. Oh, is that a quickened heart rate I feel? A cold sweat maybe? Yep, point made.

But, hey, you’re still reading. You’re not going to do that thing, we both know it. Your parents, your teachers, your friends- they all know that you won’t do anything about it. Even I know you won’t, and making people do that stuff is supposed to be my whole job.

So what do I do then? First, I watch out of the eyes of this person. Imagine you see from someone else’s perspective, so you feel their pain, if they’re upset you get sad, and you see their memories, and- did I mention this before? You feeling their fucking pain.

Bad people like me are assigned to dying people. Not like cancer patients or anything, but those guys who have a tendency of walking into oncoming traffic and the girls who don’t eat for days but when they do it’s all pills.

I live through the walking dead and that’s how I’m forced to die forever, but just to come back and get emotionally connected to the next poor, beaten down bastard.

And that’s my life basically. (Well, my death. There’s going to be a lot of bad afterlife jokes in this by the way.)

Oh, and if I save one of these kids I get to move on to a better job. Like a promotion, or moving up to Heaven. But I never really focused on that because they always assign me to the kids who are already the actual husks of happiness.


But let me tell you about this girl now. She’s a lot like you in a lot of ways.

She’s putting things off, but she doesn’t think life matters enough to try. She’s hopeless and lost and just a teen with her whole life ahead of her, but she’s drifting towards that shiny exit sign.

But I’m going to save this girl, because wait until you hear inside her head.

It’s all explosions of life and colours and that feeling you get when someone loves you forever, even though she thinks she can’t love herself. She’s all bright and electric, even though the world she lives in is the infinite sadness of grey and fire that you remember as Hell.

This girl is living hope, and I’ll be damned if I don’t even try to get her out of here alive.

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