Her Name was Zecora

by Leoshi

Strange

While under the constraints of a set time and while playing certain music, I write about a particular subject using the pony universe. Tonight’s challenge: 45 minutes. Topic: Racism.

!Disclaimer!: I own no rights to the show or any product therin. All rights go to Faust, Theisson, and the hub. Keep calm and pony on.

Under-Hour Challenge: Racism

Her name was Zecora. And she wasn’t strange.

Zecora was a zebra, a creature not too different than the typical earth pony. She wore her mane up in a mohawk and spoke in a tribal rhyme that only came with years of practice, but otherwise she could live easily among other creatures.

But ponies often wondered where she had come from, why she had left her home, and - sometimes within earshot - why she would not return home. Some ponies did not like Zecora in their presence, and while most kept their thoughts buried beneath their masks of politeness, she could still see the wonder and telltale fear in their eyes.

They spoke about her behind closed doors. They eyed her suspiciously when she walked into and out of town. They wondered what she was up to, at any time of day. Her name was Zecora, and she wasn’t strange.

Her move to Equestria had not been by force, but by choice. Her home and family all held their traditions close, and while they were certainly not pony standard, they were far from odd. Even though the decorations and mannerisms she had brought with her were different, they were not odd.

In fact, Zecora could easily say (and with a rhyming flourish, too) how the buildings, decorations, and society in Ponyville were strange. But she didn’t. She kept her opinions to herself, said it was to be expected, and went about what business she could. Did that make her strange?

She remembered one particular day where her being shunned had actually hurt her deeply. It was a long time ago, years before she met Twilight Sparkle and her friends, who would then become her friends. But this day was not like others - it was one of the first days she had settled in Equestria, in the large forest that some ponies told pony tails about.

When she was a younger zebra, she had stopped to ask one of the Ponyville residents where a safe path into the forest could be found. Most of them ignored her, though she didn’t understand why at the time. One particular gentlecolt had stopped to help her, giving her directions and describing landmarks. He was very helpful, or so she thought at the time.

Even though the young Zecora had spent a number of days in wilderness and felt a solid confidence being in one, she could not have prepared for the Everfree Forest. The winding paths, the clawing trees, the incredible creatures...none of it scared her, but rather fascinated her. So enthralled was she in the landscape of the forest that she had soon lost her way. Darkness fell over the land much too soon, and she was forced to make a shelter.

Night, she realized, was when the forest came to life. Trees moved with phantom winds, the ground seemed to crawl like a skin, and creatures she could have only imagined stalked her shelter, curious in the new scent that was Zecora.
Then, curiosity led to action. That action led to her shelter being breached.

Zecora did not get any sleep that night, and instead spent a majority of it running from the monster she had just seen. She did not care about direction or landmarks or any of her belongings - survival was the only thing on her mind.

Survival, just like any pony who would have faced what she had faced. That didn’t make her strange, did it?

The following morning saw Zecora dragging her hooves into Ponyville, and she was spotted by the same gentlecolt who had given her directions the day before. Thinking him to be a friend, she had begged him for help in finding another way to a proper clearing where she could set up a permanent shelter.

The colt laughed her off, and went on his way, very amused at the state the poor zebra was in.

Zecora didn’t understand at the time why she seemed so strange. That incident had hurt her, though not physically beyond aching leg muscles. What was hurting her the most was the abject fear of what she had seen, the mild worry about her lost possessions, and the unrealized betrayal she had suffered at the hooves of the one she had thought a friend. The fact that other ponies still refused to acknowledge her was still better than the venom of betrayal.

Finally, she decided to trust in herself, because the Ponyville ponies had made a joke out of her. Over the next several days, she would brave the Everfree Forest a bit at a time, studying it - and, more importantly, letting the forest study her. She had learned of the horrible monster that had invaded her sleep, a creature known as a Timberwolf. And the further she explored, the more she learned of the forest.

Finally the days passed into years, and Zecora had little interaction with the ponies of the village. As they had shunned her, she shunned them. More stories rose up about the strange striped pony in the forest, who spoke in rhymes and dug holes in the ground. One particular story became popular, about how she was a ghost who haunted one of the town’s stallions from afar, and was simply waiting for the perfect moment to lead him astray. Lead him into her forest so he could be eaten. Eaten by whom, that was always argued.

But no. The stories were simply stories, and Zecora spent her days living in the forest as she had chosen to do years before. On her occasional ventures into the town, she would always find the doors closed and shutters drawn; no doubt a result of the stories that flew about her. She desired no revenge or any chance to make the ponies feel like the strange ones. After all, why would she? She was only Zecora, and she wasn’t strange.