Falling Above

By S Goel

It is a story about Sam who has no friend except Sneha, who goes missing after they both got into a feud. He must find her as soon as possible, as her life may be at stake. Will he be able to find her or has he lost his only friend? Can he fight against the new magical world he found?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Jun 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482833263

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Copyright © 2014 by S Goel.

ISBN:      eBook         978-1-4828-3326-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

CHAPTER 1

H ey, I am Samhaen, and this is my story. People call me Sam for short because they don’t know my real name and I never told them too. I hate my name being misspelled or not being pronounced the way it should be. You can also call me Sam from now on as I won’t like to be called Sameen or Samhain (as in the festival) or however you may say it. So keep it simple— Sam . As for my surname, if you may ask, I don’t have one. I am Sam, just Sam, with nothing attached. I once had it, I guess, but no one remembers it, and the new one given to me is too derogatory to be used. I wish that you will stay with me and listen to my story as I don’t have many friends—or rather, any friend, I should say. Everyone around me calls me freak and names that I don’t like.

When I was 13, I noticed a change in myself. I could smell a decomposing, bad, rotten-egg type of smell from time to time. I never realized why it was so or what it meant. When I tried to find it out, I never got any answers. It was rather odd for me from the start as whomever I told that I smell odd things around them would either make a disgusted glance or spit on my face or push me away or kick me or do anything I would not like, so I stopped responding to that smell. Now I am 19, and this story—or rather, this incident in my life—is what relates to me and defines my identity. I will start at a rough phase that every guy in the same age group mostly finds himself in.

15 July 2013

I was on my bed, staring at the ceiling, looking at the fan. The fan really needed a cleaning; it was covered with brown dust having black patches that was easily visible to anyone who would just take a look at it. It was 15 September, Mrs Catchet’s birthday, whom I call as my mom. How could I forget that after all? She always sleeps early, or at least earlier compared to me, and was already asleep. I was a night goon, awake till 4 a.m. mostly, and it was a Sunday, so it was a holiday tomorrow—or rather, today (as Sunday had already begun). Obviously, it was going to be much later today.

But there was one thing that I couldn’t take out of my mind even though I have been trying to for months now. That was my girlfriend—precisely to be called my ex-girlfriend—who broke up with me after getting the preplacement offer in a company of much more value than my emotions, it seemed to me. It was my first relationship, and I hoped, the last.

I so hated it, the things going this way. I really liked the girl. I tried to do everything I could—sent her cards online, celebrated our monthly anniversary of my proposal to her. It was me who would remember it even when she seemed to have forgotten it, but did that matter any more to her or to me? It did to me at least. She still called me every two weeks to tell me that she missed me but couldn’t get into a relationship, and I too always picked up her calls, thinking that she might want to get back into the relationship this time or that this very time she would miss me so much that she would want to come back to me.

I never even hastened the things between us. She told me to slow down, but does a relationship need to be slowed down when you haven’t even kissed each other? It was not that I had not tried to, but she always seemed to be not ready, calling all this too cheesy for her. But I took all these things because I really liked her. But did the feelings matter in the end? No, they didn’t for her. I still waited for her call. It’s been like five days since her last message, with her saying all the best for my exams and then again disappearing from my life like I was a nobody.

The phone started to ring. The old Nokia phone I still owned seemed to be obsolete nowadays. Who would own it after the android market has overtaken everything in the telephone industry? Nickelback’s ‘rockstar’ was the ringtone. I did not understand the first few words of the lyrics of the song, but yeah, I really liked it. Lyrics can always be Googled, can’t they? I reluctantly reached for the phone, hoping it to be from the one person who I wish would call. But the number was unidentified. No name on the phone appeared, nor a familiar number. It was rather something new.

Obviously, I had deleted the phone number of my ex-girlfriend. Who kept the number of their exes after the break-up? But the problem was, I still remembered it, her number, memorized by heart. You cannot take out the things you learn consciously or unconsciously from your mind. Hence, it was not her number, I was certain. I lifted the phone, pressed the answer key on it, and smacked it to my ear.

‘Hello, who is it?’

‘Oy. Do you have the number of Rahul?’

Obviously, I had it. Was it a question to be asked? Who doesn’t have the phone number of a class-topper? In the end, it’s only his notes you are going to read—photocopied, of course.

‘Yeah, I have it,’ I replied, not much interested in the conversation.

I didn’t remember the name of the person, though the voice did sound familiar to me. My memory was weak in such instances. Recollecting names, remembering things—I was really bad at it, but I was a genius in solving problems.

‘Then message it to me, ass,’ the speaker said