Prompt courtesy of Madison Woods and the Friday Fictioneers. Criticism is always welcome.
Dzinski coerced the car to the shoulder. He stepped out and kicked the two flat tires. He scratched the stubble covering his jaw. He sat on the hood, rolled a smoke and surveyed the land.
A few black trees poked up from the ashen dirt. Recent forest fire, he figured. The afternoon sun beat down thick on the bare forest floor and all he could think of was death.
He saw the hawk land on a charred bough, watched it rip a hare apart.
The concept of survival blossomed inside him. Dzinski grabbed his jacket and gun and started walking.
More Dzinski here.