Rebecca Yoder Narrative

Rebecca Yoder Was 12 Years Old When She Disappeared. I look closely at the wrinkly newspaper and see a grainy black-and-white photo of myself, a photo I never even knew was taken. You can't tell that I have mousy brown hair or mossy eyes like my mother's. This is wrong, this all wrong, I think to myself. I am Rebecca Yoder, and Rebecca Yoder is dead.

two weeks prior
In my Amish community, we rise with the sun. Every day, we greet the dusky morning sky with outstretched arms before the men go to the fields and the women tend to the house. And if you're me, every single day you think of a way that you could get out.
Being twelve, I of course live with my family. The presence of family is of utmost importance to many Amish and especially to my father, who wants us to do everything together. If anything happens, the whole family knows about it. There's no hiding.
My mother is the most caring person I have ever met, and will probably ever know. She has dark, silky hair that I wish I would've inherited. My hair is mousy brown, dull, and impossible to work with. At least it's hidden under a bonnet. I think I'm my mother's favorite, though she would never admit it. I like to help her around the house, and she tells me I say a lot of things that get her thinking. I really believe that I could convince her to leave with me.
I have an older sister
Instead, I walk toward the fields, where I'll walk around the perimeter until I reach the clearing and I run. Looking at the fields from afar, they look like they could fit in the palm of my hand. Walking through them, I realize how vast they are and how much I'm going to need to pick up the pace. I briskly hustle through the fields until I can see the clearing at the end. I have tunnel vision.I pause for a few seconds to look back. I can see the tops of the fields and my house as big as my pinky fingernail. Then, I break into a