I've named him Milton.

 

The small flame on the oil lamp cast shadows on the walls, where before there were none.  So where were these shadows before?  Were they always there but we just didn’t see them because it was dark?  Is it simply Nature keeping a balance, like it does with day and night? 

Is there something in the room keeping the light from reaching the wall, like some kind of spirit?  Were there imperfections in the match that transferred to the flame on the oil lamp, and are now being broadcast onto the wall? 

Are there imperceptible sound waves disturbing the air in the room which show up as shadows?  Why does the snap of the wall switch cause the shadows to scatter like roaches?  No, wait.  The shadow is moving.  It is a roach right here on the table.  It is being illuminated by the light of the oil lamp and now his giant shadow crawls across my wall. 

His waving antennas seem longer than my arms.  His collective legs marching to an uneven rhythm.  Was it warmth that drew him closer to the flame?  Was he cold like me, sitting here at the table, wrapped in a blanket.  I wonder if he knows we’re sharing the same small bit of heat.  Is this what is meant by friendly fire?