Free sample · the opening
The first pages of Max Unleashed
Read it the way it's meant to be read — slowly, and aloud if you like.
Chapter OneIntroducing Max
Max was a small, industrious mouse who lived in the busy town of Cheddarfield on the outskirts of Mousingham. He shared his cozy burrow under an old oak tree with his kind and loving wife, Lily, and their nine little mouse children: seven playful boys and two sweet girls. Their home, though small, was warm and inviting, with comfy beds made of straw and a fireplace to keep them warm on colder nights.
The town was a vibrant place, with many other mice and animals scurrying about, taking care of their daily tasks. The streets were always full of activity and the shops and markets were always filled with the intoxicating smells and sounds of fresh food being prepared and cooked.
Despite his tireless efforts to provide for his family, on his quieter days, when he had time to himself, Max would often notice a tiny tickle in his heart. It wasn't something he could really place. It was like a distant voice that sang a song of a more fulfilling and satisfying life. Like there must be more to life than just working all the time. This song, ever present but often unheard, permeated his dreams as he nestled deep asleep in his straw bed alongside Lily, and sang to him of a life of joy and connection for all. He sometimes remembered these dreams but had no idea of what that looked like or where to start.
When he found a little space in his day, he'd often take himself on walks through the meadows and forests that hugged the edges of his town. Sometimes, when a whole day or more was his to enjoy, he'd bravely explore the distant mountains, plains, or forests, or stroll along the beautiful shores.
As he wandered through the tall grasses and colourful wildflowers, he felt a sense of peace and tranquility that he could never find in the noise-fuelled streets of his town.
These walks meant the world to him. He met rabbits and squirrels, birds and bees and many other fascinating creatures, and their approach to life was different. Some talked less and listened more. Sometimes they'd simply acknowledge him with just a nod, rather than a full-blown conversation.
And when one of these beautiful animals would sit with him to pass the time of day, their conversations were so different and truly special to him. Each had their unique perspective on life and way of living it. Some were content with their simple, hardworking lives, while others had big dreams and ambitions.
These encounters stirred something in Max and inspired him to think more deeply about what was truly important to him. He realized he wanted more than just to work hard and provide for his family. Something deep, a quiet longing, was stirring within him. He'd have told you that he wanted to find 'true happiness' or a 'meaningful life' and whilst that was true, in all honesty, it was just an inkling, a hunch, a feeling. But it was always there.
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In the evenings, when the day's work was done, the little burrow filled right up with the sound of his children. Seven boys and two girls make a great deal of noise, you understand, for one small home under an old oak tree. Tobias, the eldest, would help the littlest ones wash the day from their paws; two of the boys would squabble, happily enough, over the warm spot nearest the fire; and Lily would move among them all, settling this one and feeding that one, with a calm that somehow stretched to cover the lot of them.
Max loved this hour of the day best of all. He would sit by the fire with the smallest of them, little Wren, tucked up on his knee, and he would think that whatever else was true in this world, he had made something warm and good, right here.
One such evening, Wren looked up at him with that great seriousness only the very young can manage. "Papa," she said, "why do some animals have so much, and some so little?"
And Max opened his mouth to answer her — and found he had nothing to give. He knew how to gather food, and mend a roof, and keep nine children fed through the coldest of winters. But that, he did not know how to answer. "That's a big question," he said gently, "for such a small mouse." And he kissed her on the head and tucked her into bed. But the question stayed with him, long after the fire had burned down low. It was almost as though his own quiet longing had found itself a voice at last — and the voice belonged to his own little daughter.
Chapter TwoThe Quest for a Fairer Island
Early one morning, over breakfast, the radio in the kitchen dispassionately broke the news that a nearby town of Squeakchester was going to be razed to the ground. Max was devastated. The chatter of his family around the table came to a sudden halt. Max stiffened in shock, and the toast and honey he had been enjoying fell from his paw with a crumbed bounce off the table and into his lap with a sticky landing. Max was quite oblivious to the plight of his breakfast, so consumed was he with disbelief, and a sadness that cut right through his heart.
He knew a great many of the folk in that lively little town, and he knew only too well what its ruin would cost them — their homes and their work, and the green land the town nestled in besides.
Most of all, he thought of his friend Rosie, a hard-working seamstress who had built her little shop up from nothing at all. She took such pride in the beautiful things she made for the townsfolk, and her shop was a warm and busy place, where friends and neighbours would gather to chat and share their news. To lose it would be to lose not just the shop, but every hour of love and care she had poured into it — and a gathering-place that had brought the whole town together. Max thought of long afternoons at her family table, and his heart ached at the thought of her losing everything she had worked so hard to make. And he knew, besides, that a great many others in the town faced the very same loss.
And somewhere in the middle of all that sadness, something else began to stir in Max — something quite out of character for so mild and hard-working a mouse. A kind of determination. He found that he wanted, more than he had ever wanted anything, to find a better way of living: one that put the wellbeing of ordinary folk, and the land they lived upon, above the endless hungry growth of the city.
Dazed, Max rose from the table. The toast, still held fast in the honey's viscous embrace, made its slow descent to the floor as he took up his coat, and left the kitchen, and stepped out into the cool of the spring morning.
As he walked, he shook his head, over and over. He simply could not understand how the leaders of the city could make so cruel and heartless a decision.
By and by he came to the foot of a tree where his friend Pip the sparrow liked to rest, and there he let out all of his anger at once. "It's outrageous!" he cried, in such a shrill little squeak that it made poor Pip shudder from head feather to tail. "How could they do such a thing? Don't they care at all for the folk who live there?"
"I'm afraid they don't, my friend," said the sparrow sadly. "It seems to me the leaders of the city think only of their own interests, and of growing bigger and bigger. They never stop to think what it costs the world around them. I spend my days up on the wing, you know, and I see a good deal more than those down on the ground. The city has been spreading, and doing its quiet harm, for a very long time now."
Max shook his head in disbelief. But he knew, deep down, that he had to do something — he had no choice in the matter. And there, at the foot of Pip's tree, he made himself a vow: to stand by Rosie, and by all the others, and to find some way for them to work together and build something kinder out of the wreckage. And as he made it, he thought of little Wren, and of the question she had put to him by the fire — why some should have so much, and some so little — the question he had had no answer for. Perhaps, he thought, this was where an answer might begin.
He knew it would not be easy. The leaders had made up their minds, and it seemed most unlikely they would ever change them. For that was simply how things were done on the Island: the leaders decided everything, and never once thought to ask a soul. And that, thought Max, was the very root of the trouble. There had to be a better way.
So that very day, Max set to work. His voice not quite steady, he called together a handful of like-minded mice — friends, mostly, and friends of friends — and laid before them the bare bones of an idea.
Chief among them was his old friend Sam, a steady, good-hearted mouse whom Max had known since the two of them were small enough to curl up together in a teacup. If Max was the one forever dreaming up wild ideas, Sam was the one who worried about them aloud — which was, Max had always thought, a very useful sort of friend to have.
"Can you believe it, Sam?" said Max. "The leaders decide everything, and never once think to ask the rest of us."
"I know. It isn't right," said Sam. "But what on earth can the likes of us do about it?"
"We build something better," said Max. "A way where everyone has a say in the things that touch their lives — where we work out together what's best for all of us. Where nobody sits at the top, and nobody is left at the bottom."
Sam frowned, and it was plain he was turning a worry over in his mind. "The others are rather set in their ways," he said — and behind the words was his own quiet fear of the unknown. "They may not want to change."
"Then we shall show them," said Max, gently. "We'll show them we can make good choices for ourselves — that every voice weighs just the same. It's the only way I can see to a fairer Island."
And so, with little more than their shared unhappiness and a wish for something better between them, they began to talk in earnest.
Not all of the mice were sure. A good many were comfortable enough as things stood, and could not yet see the path. "It's all new ground for us," they said — and so it was.
"Then we start from just where we are," said Max. "We have nothing but a wish for a fairer life. So that is what we shall begin with."
"We'll face the unknown together, then," said the braver ones among them. And so they did.
They began by taking in the folk of Squeakchester, as the city set relentlessly about its work, and giving them shelter, and food, and a welcome. "We'll build new homes," said Max, "and find new ways to feed ourselves, and teach the little ones. We'll see to it that everyone has the chance of a better life."
And more mice came to join them, and helped Max and his neighbours make their own town less and less dependent on the city — growing their own food, building their own homes, teaching their own young. It was hard, to be sure, to learn so very much so quickly. But with every new skill they mastered, they grew a little stronger, and a little more their own.