The creature stared into the unending blackness of his prison. He waited, and waited, for a way out, for an escape, but none ever came. He saw the flashing of an innocent children's program on the television. He slowly approached it, and as he did it began to corrupt and distort, just like everything else he saw. The imagery appeared on the screen, and he could not bear to look. Minutes passed. It got worse and worse. It showed terrible things on the screen. He saw the other creature, one that looked like him, taking a child away to God knows where. He wanted to close his eyes, but they were forced open. He wanted to look away, but he just couldn't.
Then the camera turned to face him. The screen went black for a moment, and all he could see were the faces of those watching this program, going into distress and screaming at each other, before going insane. Then came the flash of a bullet, and the screen went dark again. He sat there for hours, undisturbed. It was almost peaceful to him, the silence. Then the television came on again, and the process started once more. But this time, the camera never turned to face him. He only watched this time. There was no distortion, no horrific imagery. All he could see was a picture of a brilliant shining star that shined brighter than any other. He smiled. He giggled. He laughed. All he could see was a gateway, for something far more horrible. But that would not come for a long time.
He sighed as the television went black again. How long would he be trapped in this unending cycle of despair on a television screen? All he wanted was to go back. To go back to where he came. To go back to that quiet town in Nevada, and see his family again. But that was never going to happen, was it? No. He would be trapped here forever. There was no escape.
The cycle began anew. The video warped and distorted. It turned to face him. The watchers dissolved into screaming maniacs. The bullet destroyed the screen. It happened again and again and again and again. Sometimes it wouldn't face him, sometimes it would. But all it took was his mere presence to distort and warp the screen into horrible demonic chanting. Sometimes he wondered if he was some kind of Devil, at which the people chanted in worship of him. Perhaps he was just a victim of the Devil. He didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to go back.
It continued happening. For days, weeks, months, years. Again and again and again, and he just couldn't take it anymore. He reached out and punched the screen as hard as he could, but nothing happened. He punched it again. Again. Nothing would happen. He banged on the glass screen again and again until his hands bled and broke. He could see the watchers, hiding in despair as he attempted to break free from his prison. They were afraid. They were hiding. All he wanted was to be free. How could they not understand that? They went insane at the mere sight of him. What was wrong with him?
But then, something happened. The screen cracked. There was a tiny crack in the middle of the screen. The creature began desperately banging on the door, trying to break through the screen. But then the flash of a bullet left him in darkness again, and he cried. He cried for someone to find him. He cried to go home. But none heard him.
The screen started again with the familiar title card. It read, "We Begin Our Broadcast Day." The cycle began again, and all he could do was watch.