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You can find the we-write post here:
https://steempeak.com/freewrite/@freewritehouse/we-write-partner-up-12-6-2018-10-sbi-in-prizes
Billy the Boxer
When Billy O'bill told people that he was a boxer, most people laughed. He was short --if he were female, they would probably call him 'petite'-- and was incredibly skinny. He looked as weak as a milky coffee, which was to say that he was pretty damned weak.
People didn't understand though. How could they? All of those preconceived notions. All of the so-called perfect ideals. All of the stereotypes.
The fact was, he wasn't what they thought him to be, neither was he a breed of dog, as some had smirked about. People were complete ning-nongs at times. How hard was it to understand that he packed boxes for a living! A boxer!
Every day he faced a lengthy conveyor belt that harboured box, after box, after box, after box.
The boxes never ended. Day in, day out, the line of boxes was as eternal as the plastic he wrapped them in. Cardboard boxes wrapped in plastic. He didn't even know what was inside the bastard things! Just that they were never-ending, and he had to wrap them up after whoever before him sealed the boxes tight.
Another box. Wrap it up. Another. Wrap it up. Pure drudgery. Until one day, a box landed in front of him that had yet to be sealed.
Curiosity came over him, and he peered inside.
As he was folding back the top, the inside of the box lit up and he saw a cell phone laying on top of a cushion of bubble wrap. Not only was the phone lit up, it was vibrating. Billy looked around the line and saw no one in the area. He picked up the phone and the box slid on down the conveyor belt, unsealed and unwrapped. Billy looked at the display and saw that it was showing an incoming call from “Dad”.
Hmmmm, some lucky soul was getting a call from his dad, and Billy momentarily wished that it could be meant for him. His father had been murdered in a gang related drug deal just a few weeks ago. Billy could still hardly believe that it had happened. His father had been an informant for the New York City Drug Enforcement Agency, a fact that Billy wasn’t particularly proud of. Good thing no one had known about it, or at least not until he was ratted out himself and ended up in the morgue. In the rough neighborhood where Billy came from, being a snitch was the lowest of lows. Almost as bad as being a boxer for a living. Well people might make fun of him for not being big enough or brave enough to make it with the East River Bloods, but no one walked by and spit on him.
Billy shook himself out of his thoughts and looked again at the phone still vibrating in his hand. How had it gotten into that box? Should he answer it? This was about the most interesting thing that had ever happened on this boring ass assembly line. Another box was coming his way to be wrapped. And of course hundreds more after that, a never ending stream of utter boredom.
He jabbed his finger on the send button and said, “Hello?”
“Billy, listen to me carefully, I don’t have much time!” said the disembodied familiar sounding voice.
Billy stuttered, “How did you know my…….Dad? Dad, is that you? How? You’re supposed to be dead!”
The voice replied, “Yes, it’s me, son. I’ve been working undercover for the DEA for the last 2 years and my cover is burned. The department staged my murder. We are going away, son, right now. I need you to say nothing to no one, come out the fire escape door, and get into the black Hummer waiting around the block. We’re on our way to Belize, no more boxes for you, Billy!”