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Tiny, scabby, it crawled out from beneath the floorboards. It left a trail of wriggling dandruff. The sun splashed itself on the wood across the room and the little scabby thing limped frantically towards it, discarding a few legs on the way. With a tiny squeal, it lurched onto the gold and rubbed its scabs all over it. This way, other little scabby things would know that this patch of sunlight was its alone. Its. When it was satisfied that there was enough squirming flesh bits to mark its territory, it set about devouring the sun on the floor. It hoped that it wouldn't eat so much that the sun died, but if it did, there was always the moon to eat, even if it had a rank odor.