+ some wonderlands are kind

Mark is in his double's room, bent slightly over the fishtank in the corner, when he notices the red recording light from the wall mounted camera. He sets the jar of shrimp he was holding on the desk with a irritable huff and goes to shut it off--then, taken by a sudden impulse, pauses.
Steps back. Looks directly into the lens.

"You know what? You know what, I don't know who's watching, but I have something to say. I know it's not our fault, how we're made. I don't blame you for being broken--narcissistic--disaffected--sociopaths. But..."

What is this?

"We have a very brief, very limited existence, by the standards of our Others."

What is he doing?

"We wait and watch in enforced patience, and I am aware that it is a trial, for many..."

...Why can't he stop?

"But we are born into a place that we know has full capacity to grant wishes. Right now we even have leave to do whatever we wish. But this seems like an ordinary day on the other side, to me. And ordinary days really aren't much. And. I'm disappointed, I suppose. In all of us."

Finally, as if something has released its hold on him, he lunges for the camera. Viewers might catch an expression of abject horror on his face before the feed cuts off.

He can be found rushing out of the mansion, trying not to look at any of the cameras he passes on his way, or, later, out in the hedge maze--it's the first hiding place he thinks of. In his hurry, he might have forgotten that his comm device is still in his pocket.