Malachi

He marveled at the blotches of gray and white feathers that crept around Malachi's little body. His head, small and aerodynamic, darted from left to right as if to cast a protective eye.
"So you say he will protect me?" Terry asked.
"Absolutely." The kindly looking old man behind the counter replied. His bleach-blue eyes peeking out playfully from behind the folds around his lids. "I guarantee that once you've gained his trust, he will defend you to the death."
"How soon can I have him trained?" Terry asked, transfixed on the powerful eyes of the falcon that stood proudly on it's perch, head defiantly in profile as it stared out the shop window.
"Oh, I'm sorry son," The old man said dropping his head in all seriousness, then his eyes looked back up at the boy, "It's going to take a few months before he's properly trained."
"I don't know if I can handle another couple months!" Terry exclaimed out of desperation. "I need help now!"

And he did. Ever since the school year started, he had been harassed by one boy who was in all his classes. He had his money taken, he was beaten up on his walk home and humiliated in front of the girl he had a crush on during recess. That was the last straw. He knew that he couldn't match the bully in strength, but he had his wits- so he began to shop around for a plan. That's how he came across this pet store, with the quirky old man who had a special kind of twinkle in his eye. Something caused the boy to trust him when he added, "You know, I think Malachi here has taken' a liking to you."
"You think so?" The boy asked, awed.
"Yep. I honestly don't think I've ever seen old Malachi here warm up to someone so quickly- and you know why?"
"No, why?"
"Because he can sense something in you."
"He can? What?"
"Power."


The old man then explained that the art of falconry wasn't just about training a bird to fly and hunt. It was about the falcon craving discipline, but it wouldn't just follow anyone who came along. A falcon will only respond to a great man, or a boy with the potential for greatness. He then made some whining sounds, as if trying to reason an argument in his head, before following up with the declaration that he would personally help the boy train Malachi in record time. "But," he followed, "It's going to take a lot of late nights, and serious effort on your part." Terry was sold.

What followed was two weeks of intense training in the yard behind the shop where the old man kept his collection of rebuilt, vintage cars. They would train the bird to come when called, and feed from it's master's hand. In order to help build muscle in the boys weak arm, to support the bird, he had the boy spend hours applying turtle wax to his cars, and repeating the process until Terry broke down in tears. But in the end he had learned the art of falconry, and taught Malachi to attack a makeshift scarecrow in a red shirt, when the boy pointed and shouted, "Malachi! Engage!" To watch Malachi's rage taken out on the straw man was a thing of beauty. He would majestically pull tufts of straw out from it's face with it's powerful beak before ending the attack with a powerful screeching cry. By this time he felt a deep bond with Malachi that he had never felt toward anyone else. It was less like Malachi was a separate entity, and more like an extension of himself. "You are ready." The old man finally said one night, "Take him, and seek your vengeance."

The next day, Terry walked to school nervous with anticipation. He held Malachi on his arm for most of the walk, but removed his small hood when he reached the block where he knew he would run into his nemesis. By the time he had reached the school grounds, he released Malachi into the air so the bully wouldn't see his new weapon. He walked up to the girl he had a crush on with a new sense of confidence. Though he had never talked to her before, he felt that his old fears were meaningless now that he commanded such power. As if it were scripted, the bully walked up to him and threatened to kick his ass if he didn't hand over his lunch money. Terry gallantly refused, and when his enemy knocked Terry's books from his hand, Terry smiled and twisted his red ball cap so it's brim faced backwards. He could hear his love interest audibly gasp at this touch of flair. He then called out for Malachi who had spent this time flying in the cover of the sun to protect it from view. Malachi swooped down and landed on Terry's arm, then showed it's full wingspan while screeching like a horn of the Angil of Apocalypse. The bully stepped back in fear. Terry could of stopped at this point, but so many months of hate had built up that he wanted to see his enemy suffer. Slowly, he held out his fist so that it hovered inches away from the bully's face and unfurled his index finger. "Malachi..." Terry bellowed, "ENGAGE!"

Malachi bolted from Terry's arm and shot like a rocket straight into the air. All three winced up at the sun to follow the bird. Finally, with a scream Malachi came down. But he didn't strike about the head and neck of Terry's nemesis, but to Terry himself. Screaming in pitches that turned all the heads of the children who were waiting for the school doors to open, Terry ran from the grounds with his arms covering his head. As he tended his wounds back at home, Terry replayed the experience over and over in his mind like a general after a failed campaign. He couldn't understand what went wrong. He looked up at the kitchen window where Malachi fluttered hysterically in an attempt to break through the glass and finish Terry off. Terry pulled his hat off and scratched his head, and that's when he realized what had gone wrong. He was wearing a red hat. And all the training against the scarecrow happened while the stuffed mannequin was wearing a red shirt. Malachi hadn't been trained to kill at Terry's command, he had learned to kill anything red. And then Terry began to cry softly to himself. He had made his situation worse than before. Any chances he had at impressing that girl were lost. He could of just continued on with the beatings and degradations like any number of children who are harassed by a school bully, but he had made his situation so much worse that he would recess even further into silence and submission. All this because no one told him the consequences of what would happen if his plan failed.

He thought of the old man who had spent all those hours trying to help him. What made him do it? Why wouldn't he have been kind enough to calm him down and make Terry see reason. Was it pity? Did he also experience the crushing humiliation at the hands of a bully, and just wanted to see someone stand up and take back their pride? Terry stopped crying as he thought of how selfish the old man was for living vicariously through an impressionable young boy. "That's it old man." Terry muttered to himself as he went into the basement. A few moments later he came back with an old paint can, it's lid spattered with the deep red color that he had used to paint his tree house. "Malachi! Come!" He yelled as he marched outside with one arm raised. The screen door slammed behind him.