From the dank, crawling weeds overlaying the densely covered dirt by the edge of an aging oak tree stood a traveling zebra, brushing the crusty dead weeds and fallen autumn leaves aside with her striped hooves. A saddle bag hung over her back as she ventured deeper into the veil of darkness surrounding the forest, and a dark brown cloak draped her backside. Nearby animals howled and screeched and hooted, but no noise hurt her ears more than the loneliness in her heart. Her left hoof crushed a crumbling twig deliberately, and with a few stumbling trips, she regained her balance and continued her journey. The crisp, dirt engraved path she followed showed no taming, and sticks and rocks as such often blocked her way. The only previous tracks were rodents' or chaffinches', and she was not accustomed to either animal. Sighing, she dragged her wary hooves along with her spirit, continued to walk through the dense undergrowth, and remained desperate to return to the only place she could call home.
A few beaded necklaces hung from her strongly built neck, and her large golden earrings drooped from her ears, almost weighing the wise zebra down. Their weight forced her to hang her head low, and so, she walked, staring at the untamed ground. It was often told to her in her homeland that appearance did not reflect mood, but now, she began to question that saying. For as her face drooped, her frown grew evident, and her golden jewelry hung low, so did her willowing spirit.
Having been ostracized from every town she had entered, she had grown familiar to her awful treatment. However, that did not stop her loneliness from drenching her with cold, antagonizing pain. It left her shivering in a void of her own solitude and desperate to find warmth, only to find warmth only comes with friendship and trust, and that she had nothing of that sort.
Loneliness is, as her homeland said, a mixture of desire and fear, for it is something everyone experiences, but only a few can overcome. As she treaded through the crisp night air, with only her shadow and dying spirit to keep her company, she truly realized what she wanted... She wanted company, but she feared it, as well. For with company comes acceptance, and no one has accepted her before. Her strange disposition and unknown ways scared the other ponies away, but no matter how many times ponies have ran away from her, she still desired their friendship. She wished for a friend, somewhere, somehow, so that her life wouldn't be as forlorn and abandoned as she felt now.
But alas, some dreams decay with the pony who wished for them...
Kicking a pebble, she continued to journey through the untamed forest. She passed the nests of multiple feral cats, and careful not to awake them, she shoved her loneliness aside and slowly walked away. She could hear the distant hoots of the many nocturnal owls, and as the serene, somber howls of multiple wolves filled the night air, she walked through the undergrowth. Brushing against a hollow, dead tree, she scraped her side, and a few bats flew out of the tree's branches and flew away, screeching and hollering.
"What a horrible shock, I did not expect this flock!" She jumped aside, startled at the dark creatures. Annoyed by the disturbance, the bats flew to another nearby tree and continued their overturned stance on the tree's dead, brittle branches. The zebra regained her composure and continued her long, exhausting walk back home on the ragged, distant trail.
Eventually, she made her way home, and stopped to pick some wild flowers before entering. The withering tree she called home sagged under the gloomy Everfree Forest overgrowth, and branches protruded from the most unlikely of places. She had hung multiple masks from her homeland to brighten up the tree, ranging from those that screamed 'hello', to more symbolic masks. One in particular hung from her front door, its dark green and red features prominent. A few leaves scattered below its face, and in Zecora's homeland, it meant 'welcome'. This decoration was her favourite, for it was the same one that had been passed down for generations in her family's name.
She clenched the flowers she held in her mouth and opened the door, revealing a home that felt so alive and welcome; it reflected her culture well. She sighed and placed the flowers on one of her many apothecary shelves, saddened by the regret of leaving home. She was so welcome in her homeland, so carefree and overjoyed. But here, all alone, with no one to call a friend, she truly understood what her mother had often told her: the loudest screams are from those who have no one to hear their cry. It was true... Here, alone, in a place that just replicated her homeland, but did not mean anything truly, was where she really had the most suffering.
What was this? This place she had built as a home? It was just a simple tree, that she had decorated in remembrance of her homeland, but it wasn't a place to call home. No, she had nowhere to call home anymore.
She had chosen to leave her true home.
She had wanted to.
But now, all she wanted was to have a home... A real home, with friends, and family, and love, and care. She had none of it, but desired it more than anything else. That desire grasped at her wise, wary skin, and pulled her away from all her trespasses, urging her to find a place to call home. Clinging to her, blocking her way, demanding closure. But who was there to love, when all that she was given was thrown away?
She suddenly remembered a common dance that her homeland had done whenever something bad had happened. Vaarwel Ellende, it was called. Goodbye, misery.
A large group had always pooled together, and as the mighty drums roared their distant beats, everyone would form a large circle and dance away, forgetting all their troubles and despair, so that only happiness would be left. The fast-paced rhythm crashed and clanged, often accompanied by chants and vocal tunes. It was a joyous event, full of laughter and celebratory fun. The beat would never change, but the zebras who performed their excited dances did. Everyone would join the dance with a frown, but would leave completely happy. It was a nice way to relieve themselves of all the sad remorse or depression. They would end the dance with a large procession of drumming, hymning, and singing, finally shouting "Vaarwel Ellende" in unison.
It was always a festive time in her village, everyone was happy and welcomed.
Zecora sighed, longing to dance to Vaarwel Ellende just one more time. But she had no one to dance with...
"Sometimes I wish that I hadn't left home, for the path I travel is hardest alone." She spoke, clinging to her fading memories. "I have left my hometown with deep regret, for everypony I pass sees me as a threat. If only I could go back home, just one more time, then my life wouldn't feel like such a crime." she said outloud, holding her striped hoof up to ornamental mask she had hung onto one of her walls. It was striped, dark red and blistering green.
It spoke of desire, of fear, of trust. It meant many things, that deep, wooden mask. It crawled up the zebra's heart, pierced her spirit, and clung to her like a virus, demanding to be read. It wasn't a simple word; it was something that would never stop screaming, never stop crying. But it only spoke of the truth, it only existed honestly. A single tear slid down the zebra's striped face, and the mask's true meaning came to light...
Isolation lasts forever.
