Locked Out

Ergh...screw script format.

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"I'm gonna go outside for a little bit, alright?"
He receives no answer, and expected none. He looked around the house, searching. Making his way into the frigid air was not a task he'd undertake lightly. If he'd be out there at all, he might as well make it worth his family's time, so he pocketed a derelict faucet handle that they had just replaced. The hefty weight secured, he made his way to the garbage outside, experiencing shocking chills as he passed through first the garage and opened the door to the outside world...
The air's frigidity awoke a primal response that crawled across his skin as he pushed past the door. Lost in his thoughts, he walked to the edge of their property and dropped to a crouch, putting a few fingers in the cold snow. He sighed, frosty breath escaping into the early morning air, rose, and continued past the border, into the forest.
Inside the house, a well-meaning father locked the door.
Outside, he is thinking and walking, a large circuit that will eventually take him back to his house. He is thinking of what the meaning of life is, and why the snow seems so bright today. And where he and his family will go in Michigan.
Inside, the family loads their luggage.
Outside, he remembers he has a faucet handle, and, withdrawing it from his pocket, drops the thing, its freezing metal surface burning his skin.
"Yar!"
Inside, mother asks, "Is everyone here?"
"Yes mother!" the children respond.
Outside, he attempts to dig through the snow with reddened hands. Forgetting the faucet handle on someone else's property constitutes littering.
The garage door opens, and the minivan rolls a few coughing, sputtering feet out, then zooms away.
He looks up as he finally grasps the handle, alerted by the familiar sound of the engine, and watches as his family escapes.
"Oh shit!"
Ice-cold faucet handle in hand, he runs for the car, but gets to the road just in time to see them round the corner. Thinking quickly, he fumbles through his pockets for his cellphone.
"Why the fuck do I have so many pockets?"
He comes to the sinking realization that his cellphone is not with him, no matter how many pockets he goes through, and runs for the door he left unlocked.
Trying the door, he discovers by the click of the handle, that he is locked out.
Trying the door again, he discovers that nothing has changed.
Trying the door one last time, he discovers that miracles do not happen just because you're locked out of your house while your family goes to Michigan.
Shoulders slumping, he walks a distance away. Then he turns, screaming, and charges the door, faucet handle raised and arcing towards the window.

Freeze.

How much did it cost when I broke that first window? Man, dad was so pissed. And that time I knocked a hole in the wall, and kicked the glass out of the door, and broke the chandelier with my yo-yo. Let's not do that again.

Unfreeze.

His scream dies and he spins about on a foot, leaning against the door. A chill shook him to his core.
"Until they return...I must survive."
He looks down at his hands, and the faucet handle therein.

Harsh breathing. Frost clouds rising into the air. The sun is setting on the horizon.
At the base of a snowbank, his faucet handles rises and falls again and again. The setting sun briefly illuminates the fruit of his labor, a cave bored into the very core of the icy snowbank. His reddened palms and cheeks crack with the cold.
He jams the cave with evergreen leaves, then huddles in for the night.

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Let's forget this little piece ever happened.