11.20

Stephanie placed the last pencil she owned into the rattly case and zipped it closed again. She blinked down at the blank page, stoic, undefeated. The only betrayal was a thin veneer of wet that crept to the corners of her eyes, and this she quickly wiped away.
"It's okay. Sometimes, people come in; they have nothing they want to keep. You're not alone. Are you ready?"
She nodded. The technician put a hand on the back of her neck and gently lowered her down into the machine. The gel, although room-temperature, felt ice cold on her skin. She felt it seep through her hair to the scalp. She closed her eyes so she couldn't see the technician count down from ten, replacing her birthday.