Ficly

Balls. Lots of balls.

The windows went on forever. From the floor, seemingly up to the sky, marching forwards for at least a hundred metres. The late afternoon sun streamed in, bringing the verdant green of the grass to life even against the polished black marble of the room, and glinting off the row of stainless steel spheres that extended the full length of the gallery.

A bearded nurse accompanied Katie down the room, windows on the left and the spheres on the right. They walked slowly, in silence, their footfalls barely audible in the vast space. After about two dozen spheres, he stopped her and indicated one of the pods. An access port was open, brilliant white light pouring out and mingling with the sunlight on the floor. She climbed up through the aperture, handed her gown down to the nurse and reclined, naked, on the couch.

The port closed and the sphere danced with images and sounds, calming her and transporting her to another place.

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