Have you ever heard a story, and it turns out to not just be a story? Well that happened to me. It all started on last Friday morning when I was sitting in art class. It was about 11:11 am and my art teacher was rambling about Andy What's-His-Face, when a bird flew through the window. Yes, I said a bird. I yelped and everyone turned to look at me. It appeared no one else saw the bird, which, at this point was flying near the light, or the shattered window. It was then, that I got a better look at the bird. It had a black streak down its back, and red feathers lining the black. The bird had a white crown fluffing up from its forehead. There also were blue feathers mixed with green and purple covering the rest of it, and one single red feather on its neck and a few bright blue feathers on the tip of it's wings. It had a long beak and elegant (for a bird) legs, or whatever it's called on a bird. It was beautiful and graceful, I guess. The bird flew out the door into the hall. I raised my hand and asked if I could go to the bathroom. My teacher gave me permission, so I got up and ran out the door, following the mysterious bird. It flew around the corner, towards the entrance of the school. I just kept chasing it. All of a sudden, it flew out the front door. I probably should have left it, but I felt inclined to follow it, like it was calling me. I know, it sounds cheesy. And honestly, it was pretty cheesy. As I ran out the door I looked at the clock. 11:11. Huh. Odd. I remembered a story my mom always told me, about a bird that was named 11, as it only showed up when the clock had the number 11 on it. Wait. Oh. Those stories NEVER turned out good. Crud. I'm screwed, aren't I? Bury me with my books.