One morning, Joseph Engels awoke from troubled dreams to find that something was definitely not right. "I don't know what it is, he thought, "But today is not going to be an ordinary day." He clambered out of his uncomfortable bed and stumbled into the hallway and toward the bathroom. It was at this point that he noticed, after placing his hand on the bathroom sink, that the thumb on his hand was an odd grey colour, almost blue in comparison to his other fingers. "What could this greyness possibly be?" he pondered, "Has my thumb lost that much circulation that it has died and lost all colour? No, that isn't possible . .. Is it?"
After getting dressed, it was time for Joseph to go to work. Joseph worked in a tiny, crammed factory putting together pieces on an assembly line. It was boring, tedious work that drained the life out of everyone who fell victim to it, but he needed to have enough money to scrape together to feed himself every now and again. He didn't really see how jamming together small objects could be beneficial to anyone, how could he, when it was such repetitive, monotonous work that left him bothered and irritable. Whilst walking to the bus stop, he felt all that he could think about was his pathetic excuse for a thumb. "There is no possible reason for this Maybe it's because I spend all my days putting tiny pieces of plastic together? But then again, I could just be going insane and hallucinating that my finger has lost all colour! How crazy is that? Who could possibly have a finger that is grey?"
By the time that he had arrived at his work, the greyness had spread past the first knuckle and started slowly, crawling to the next. Before he had even signed in on the time sheet, he made it his number one priority to find a glove that would cover the mess. It only took him a few moments to find a dispenser on the wall full of pale-yellow latex gloves. They were opaque enough to hide the discolouration on his hand, and looked relatively "normal". There was only one downside; this little yellow glove on his hand made it very hard for him to work. He could barely keep up with the conveyer belt and before he knew it, his boss was soon standing over him.
"What's taking you so long, Engels?" he boomed over Joseph's shoulder, "You're slowing down everyone else." His boss was a short man who wore shamrock green suits and constantly smelled like whisky and tobacco. He could feel his hot breath in his ear when he yelled again.
"Engels! Why aren't you answering me? !? !? And why do you have a damn glove on your hand?" As soon as his boss mentioned the glove, Joseph's mind was sent into a frenzy. "What if he finds out? I could get into trouble! ! Actually," he admitted to himself, "I haven't the foggiest idea of how someone would react to the sight of a hideous grey thumb?" "Engels! !! Stop ignoring me and answer when you are being spoken to or else I will have to find someone who appreciates this job more than you obviously do!...