When I took the online family DNA test for fun, I didn’t expect to find out I have a sister. After I read the results, I confronted my mom, and she admitted the truth that she gave birth to a daughter before she met and married my dad. My heart ached knowing all these years I could’ve had a sister and didn’t know.

Will she welcome me with open arms?

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Dale stares at the target. Everything is riding on him. The difference between victory and defeat. The difference between eternal glory and a lifetime of infamy.

Dale releases the ball. He doesn’t need to watch to know it’s clanked off the front of the rim.

Steel prices being what they were, a single sword was worth the same as a medium-sized village. We’re just talking the value of the land, buildings, and farm animals. The human lives weren’t counted, since they mostly had a negative cost the way these things were reckoned.

Walter kept his sword hidden below his floor boards. It was a secret that had belonged to his family for generations. His ancestors were once counted among the nobility. Now there was just this sword. He could sell it and feed his children, but this would be frowned upon by his financial advisor.

When I met my biological father, Robert, I was surprised at the similarities. We had a small mole on the left side of our temple, and I was left-handed, as he was. But the similarities stopped there. He was a selfish man. He left with another woman before I was born, and my mom had to be mother and father. Fortunately, she met my stepdad, and he made us a family.

Rest in peace, dad.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Alice had always known she was special. That knowledge had kept her strong before she could leave her toxic family, and supported her through subsequent poor relationship choices and lousy jobs.

She was seventy when the aliens arrived, bringing with them the secrets of a rejuvenation process that they promised would work for the great majority of Earthlings. She, however, was one of the unlucky few, doomed to a remaining lifetime of being condescended to by those who looked younger every day because they actually were. Being special, she belatedly realised, wasn’t always all it was cracked up to be.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

When Mother abandoned our family, I was ten and I was bereft. Why would she leave? Dad said Mother didn’t love me, like he did. But, Dad’s love was accompanied by belittlement and backhanded smacks. When Dad died in that crash, six years later, relief mixed with my self-pity.

I reunited with my boy at the funeral. He stood dumbfounded while I rushed to describe not feeling safe, fearing he’d turn “nasty” (like Rick), watching from afar, and all my regrets. I left when he started to look like Rick. I returned only when convinced he wasn’t becoming his father.

From Guest Contributor Bob Gielow

A city thrives and a city dies, from village to metropolis to graveyard. Now, the desert rocks hide secrets of millennia past, lives long forgotten, dreams of glory faded to black.

The city endured longer than the man and woman. It endured longer than the grandchildren. But the city didn’t live forever. The family still endures.

Stella huddled on the dock with her family, clasping hands with cherished loved ones. She tried relinquishing her ticket, proclaiming she’d rather stay behind, but they pushed her towards the boarding platform without entertaining such foolishness.

And then Stella boarded the starship, one of the lucky few afforded a chance of survival.

It wasn’t your lifeless body accompanied by sympathy cards and my childhood stuffed animal, not your workplace name tag displayed in your shirt pocket, not the sermon praising your altruism, not the incense that uplifted our prayers, not as a pallbearer guiding you to your resting place.

It was the blasts of a three-volley salute followed by the silence of two soldiers that lifted the flag off your casket and with precision folded it into a perfect triangle, and my realization that if you didn’t survive war and didn’t start a family, I wouldn’t be standing here missing you, Dad.

From Guest Contributor Charles Gray

I would pretend to be sleeping when he flipped on the light in my room. He would loom over me until my eyes opened. The walls would seem to lean in. Fear would distort my breathing. If I tried to scoot away, he would grab me by the arm and drag me back and crack me across the face with the flat of his hand. He was buried on a cold Sunday next to my mother. Some thirty people, mostly family, attended. It began to snow as stood at the graveside. He had finally found a solution to his loneliness.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie co-edits the online journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.