farmer’s feet, my sisters call them. toes spread out so they can grip the earth and soles thick and dark as mud. or maid’s feet, and giggling they point at the short, thin, dark-skinned lady mum hired so she could go to work. i don’t understand why your feet hurt in these shoes, mum says, as she shoves me into bulky black leathers. that’s because she always walks barefoot, my sisters shriek like the fates in my comics. mum hisses and waves them away. they run off and i know they will return soon and nasty. i sneak a look at the maid’s bare feet, at her splayed toes and cracked and callused soles. they don’t look ugly. they look tough, like they would have no problems running up a mountain. they would outrun zombies. my sisters’s feet are pale and will betray them. they will be the first to die. this makes me smile.