“O. Henry” was the pen name adopted by William Sydney Porter. He began his short story career by contributing Whistling Dick’s Christmas Stocking to McClure’s Magazine in 1899.
She sat upon the verdant hilltop, grass beneath bare feet, chores forgotten. She had come to gather firesticks and water. Instead, she gazed at the ripples on the water
“T-minus ten seconds.”
They say that, moments before you die, your life flashes before your eyes.
That day when we first kissed was a rainy Tuesday. We met for an innocent coffee while dark clouds built over the city. We talked about everything,
It was the red that drew my eye as soon as I came through the door. I quickly looked away and walked past to a vacant table.
My most enduring memory of Roma is of an occurrence on a cold November afternoon in the little green park which sits just above and overlooks the Coliseum. A lone woman
A complex woman went out for a walk one fine summer day. Trouble found her whether she looked for it or not, which she admittedly, intentionally sought out at times. On this fine day
Full of longing, he was waiting to see her. The mysterious admirer had written to him a very short note “Wait for me at the library entrance. Let’s meet in a few minutes.” His tired eyes were watching
Flounder by Andrew M. Carless I threw my tackle box in the bed of my truck, chunks of rust bounced off the tire. Billy pretended not to see it. He struggled with the jumbled words in his head. He wasn’t the type to come out and ask, so he bit his lower lip and concentrated. […]
Each spring, the urge to plant something—a flower or vegetable or anything that would blossom and produce—pulled at her. It must have been a legacy from her grandmother who had, long ago, kept a garden of small and neat proportions.