Maybe it was the high elevation, or the fact you’d have to drive through miles of trees and views to find a place where everyone didn’t know you. You’d think breathing that air would heal a soul. And that mountain air was fresher than any place I’ve ever been to. Everywhere you looked, there was a view fit for a postcard. But the rivers were long and cool and ran through deep ravines carved over generations, and from the ground sprung tall redwoods, and I’ll never forget the smell of the pines. The people who lived there were mostly poor. In a tiny Sierra Nevada town, where the population number barely hung above three digits. I lived a couple hours north of Sacramento when I was a kid. It's a short story, based on the prompt, "kingdom". Update 9/21: Making this update a little bit late, but I was really excited (and a little bit shocked) to see that this story won 2nd place! Huge thank you to everyone, for everything.
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