The waiting room was polished pristinely that Zanelle, sitting still, could see the reflection of herself: hair gel back correctly into a form of a bun, her outfit which are neat, wrinkle-free, and not a drop of other substances. She inhales and holds it within for at 5 seconds then slowly exhale, fingers slightly shivering like she was cold, she wasn’t cold. Zanelle heard the nurse's shoes click-clacking over until the lady stopped in front of her, blocking the light from the window. The lady mouth curved into a smile, “Dr. Goodman is expecting you,” the nurse signal her pointer finger for Zanelle to rise from the seat. “Go to that hallway and follow the arrows and it will lead you to Dr. Goodman’s room,” extending her arm out, giving Zanelle permission to exist from her seat. She wagged her head to the nurse’s demand and proceeded to the hallway.
It was like she when from the day to night within a single step inside the hallway with a door that is glowing blue light from underneath at the far end of the hall. An arrow appears from the side of the walls, blinking down, then another indicator throughout the hallway to the glowing door. Zanelle reaches the end and automatically heard a female robotic voice, “Please scan in your bar-code,” the voice seem real with a bit statically. She held out her left arm, rolling up her long sleeves as she turns her whole arm upward toward the scanning machine, showing her non-permeant sliver squared tattooed bar-code on her wrist. A red light send down from the machine and quickly scans her bar-code beep then the voice appeared again, “Hello, Zanelle Whiteheart. It is exquisite of you to take interest to fix the non-threatening worries that you have today. So, please come in, and Dr. Goodman will be with you in a moment.” It got silent then the door unlocked and slide wide open, there was a cool breeze coming from the room.
She walked in, and the door immediately closed and locked as Zanelle panoramic viewed the room: a dark medium sized with a small light, a spotlight, upon a gold retainer chair placed in the center of the floor. The floor wasn’t glass; it was a different type of spread that Zanelle, herself, never saw in a day of her life, until today. Her brown eyes hooked on the charismatic feature of this tapestry, it was colorless along with soft, upon such desire to feel it. Zanelle slightly bends and use one finger to stroke the unfamiliar material. How smooth and fluffy, she thought, against her fingertip where Zanelle finds fondness within the soft material and wonder of how it became fabricated.