¶ … except the person who is reading these words that I have written. I am twelve years old. My name is Annette Fitzpatrick. I used to attend Hubbard Woods Elementary School in Winnetka, Illinois. But now I am trapped inside the body of the man who killed me. Not trapped literally inside, like if I got swallowed by a whale. But I'm inside his brain, I'm moving this body around, I'm typing these words, but -- this body isn't mine. It belonged to the man who killed me. I don't think you should feel bad for this man. I mean, I don't even know where he is now -- I suppose his soul is probably in Hell now, if my Mommy and Daddy are right. I mean, Mommy and Daddy have tried to raise me religious. But obviously I am not God, and I can't tell you where his soul is. All I know is that my soul is in his body.

The man who killed me -- I am tempted to call him a "Psy-cho," because he strongly resembles the rap artist Psy -- is a chubby middle-aged Korean dude, and apparently a postdoctoral fellow in Mathematics at the University of Chicago, focusing on Kurt Godel's unpublished ontological proof. I know this because I have just finished reading his Ph.D. thesis. His name was Min-Sung Yoo, or Yoo Min-Sung, depending on whether you say his name in Chicago of Seoul.

I know it's spelled like that, but it is pronounced "soul" which is kind of funny, when you think about the soul of Min-Sung Yoo, Ph.D., which is probably in hell now, with the Devil.

I mean, Mister Yoo -- or Doctor Yoo, I guess, if he has a Ph.D. -- was the man who attacked me when I was out playing by the woods near by elementary school. It was a sex crime. I am what the television calls a "special victim," although if somebody calls you that at Hubbard Woods Elementary School they usually mean you should be in special ed. Calling somebody "special" is an insult in my elementary school. Like, you were retarded. Like, something was wrong with your brain.

And now that my soul is in Doctor Yoo's body, I can definitely tell you: something is wrong with his brain. There is a tumor in his brain. I know this now...

And if you happen to have seen Season 5 Episode 25 of "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit," you might happen to know that there is a specific kind of brain tumor that makes ordinary people turn into child-predators. And of course, that's the thing I'm most afraid of. Mommy and Daddy like to say that praying is just wishing for something -- you're wishing for somebody who's powerful enough to give you what you ask for. When I used to say my prayers at night, I would pray to be kept safe from child-predators. But in this case, that wasn't a prayer that got answered, I guess.
Instead a different prayer got answered. Because I was just lying in the grass in the park near my elementary school. I was looking at the fuzzy dandelions, and wondering how I had not noticed that they had gone from golden-moptops to grandfatherly whisker-fuzz at some point. And why hadn't I noticed? I guess I'd been spending more time indoors or on Tumblr. Or whatever. But here it was, I was looking at these fuzzy dandelions and thinking wow, nature is so cool, and kinda weird too. Like these little fuzzy things are the seeds. This is how a plant makes little baby plants.

So I was looking at the dandelion and I remembered that, when you're really little, like babies in kindergarten, people tell you if you blow on one of those dandelions, you can make a wish. You just can't tell anybody except yourself, or else your wish won't come true.

But then suddenly I was being attacked and the last thing that I remember doing was blowing on the dandelion and watching the white seeds go flying and making a wish. So I made a wish.

I said "Please, Satan, don't let me die!"

Because like I said, my Mommy and Daddy have tried to raise me religious. We belong to a small church that believes that we are in fulfillment of scripture, the Book of Revelations, chapter 3 verse 9. And so we basically worship Satan there. It's not like a megachurch or anything, but Satan is very powerful, he doesn't need all those theatrics. And I guess Satan made my wish come true. Sort of. I…