Surviving the 1st Night

So this is my first post EVER! And I must admit that I'm a little nervous. I understand that we are ALL family here and I shouldn't be but I am. I wrote this semi-fictionalized story after one of my  old friends reminded me of one example being young and  dumb!! I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Surviving The 1st Night

Wind howled through the cracks in the wall. The tin sheets that made up the roof had peeled at the edges. Those edges now rose and fell like applause.
 The wind was so strong that the entire small wooden shack swayed on it's moorings.
Three teenagers were burning newspapers, and little scraps of wood. The minute twigs, leaves, and branches they had gathered, weren't up to the task of warming the space.
 Drunk off corn whiskey and high off homegrown reefer the three boys  debated who was going to gather some real wood. “Main Anit no point in getting no logs they got frost on em and won't burn no matter what.” Jay was the pessimistic one. He didn't see potential. He was the kind of person who would complain if they had a job as a taster at the Ice cream factory.
 His brother was quieter and more willing to listen.“Fuck that shit!” said the oldest and largest of the three. He also had the most to prove. This old house was his after all, and going there had been his idea. He had really needed some company.
“I'm gonna get some wood. It's fucking cold.” The brothers looked at their friend. They were wondering why they had allowed him to talk them into not going home. They had a warm, dry, house to go to. Their mother might have been upset that they had stayed out late, but they would be warm. Kevin the large boy, pulled his collar around his ears and undid the piece of wood that was rigged to lock the door.
 Outside, the wind did it's best to slip inside the flannel lined, denim jacket Kevin wore. He was determined, he would NOT move back home. He was grown. His teeth chattered, his hands began to ache, but he would not be deterred. He struck his Zippo lighter remembering to flick it open. He swore that the fake habit made him look cooler.
 He looked around the overgrown yard in the meager light.  He thought he saw something. Yes, salvation. He spied three brittle gray logs on the ground. Briers and vines had grown over them. He struggled until he pulled them loose. They were coated with mud, leaves, ice and slime, but he would make them burn. He cradled the grimy treasure close to his chest.
 The three wood steps, creaked as he sauntered back into the house. "I found some logs.” He announced.  Trying to sound like he had never been in doubt. He was redeemed.
 The trio worked together seamlessly. Probably as a result of playing countless made up games as children. They doused the wood with the corn liquor they'd been chugging and some rubbing alcohol with a label that had died of old age. They piled all the paper, twigs, and assorted rubbish under the logs. Finally they lit it using a rolled up paper bag. The flames ignited in a whoosh burning off the initial fuels before setting onto the wood itself.
 The life saving fire sizzled through the icy grime in seconds, and roasted the fungi that had clung to the quartered segments. As the fire burned in earnest, the chill fled.
 The ancient two bedroom house still held the furniture from the previous tenets. Kevin’s great grandparents had lived there. They had left it to him but it had been previously unoccupied.
 Kevin looked around he was gonna make this work. He had enough friends in vo-tech classes to help him  re-wire the old place, brick up the foundation, and repair the porch.
 As if they'd read his thoughts the ragged edges of the tin roof sought his attention. Screaming "Hey hey don't forget about us!" He lit up a Doral menthol, it tasted different, better. He walked out the front door and peed off of the side of his porch. “This is my house!” He thought to himself as he shook off and zipped up.
 He'd been taken advantage of with his trailer. He had gotten swindled out of the mobile home that he had spent countless hours hauling ‘pulpwood' to buy. When the sheriff had brought him the order to vacate, he hadn't understood.
 His father was following a strict "Hands off" policy of neutrality. So with no representative the 17 year old boy wound up having to move out.
The old wooden house had been built on this spot by his great grandpa. It had seen the advent of automobiles and he determined, as his friends snores drifted to him, it was gonna see a lot more.
 He tossed his cigarette butt into the fire. He squared his shoulders.
“Yeah" He thought "I am going to get my toolbox out of the trunk." He took one last pull of the corn whiskey before finishing his thoughts "And I am going to get that roof fixed in the morning.”
He cleared himself a spot. "This is going to work."  He scratched his balls and yawned. He laid down on the floor across from his friends. He fell asleep in his house.