The Pencil

It was just a pencil. Henry found it lying on a desk in the old farmhouse. The teeth marks, which were likely as old as the home, appeared to be from someone who had a nervous tendency vs. someone who had fear; they were surface bites and not real deep.
Henry bought the old farmhouse at an auction block. He didn't know much about the family, other than the home had been in the same family for many generations and after the current owners passed, there was no one else who claimed the property. It seemed sad that the state auction was the end of the line for a family, but he also felt some excitement at what was sure to be an upside profit for him.
When he sat down at the worn desk where the pencil laid, he felt a sudden deep and extend chill go up his spine. And it was almost as if someone guided him to pick up the tooth worn pencil...

"My Dearest Jonathan,

The days have seemed to move so fast. ; it is as if our good Lord himself has intended to speed things up just so he can bring you back home to us. Mary is now two years old and she is saying, Daddy, every time I show her your picture. She seems to know just how special you are.


When I started writing something I just thought of a pencil and this story came to mind....I don't know if I can write, and perhaps this is a silly forum to learn about it, but writing is something I have been considering. Should I finish the short story, or is that just silly?