I saw myself at eight years old, from the perspective of the birthday cake candles—melting, brief, adored. I saw myself at sixty, from the vantage of my own hospital bed’s railings—cold, patient, waiting. The portal showed me the full sphere of my existence: every triumph from the angle of my failures, every loss from the angle of what I would gain tomorrow.
When I stood in front of it, I didn't see a reflection. I saw the back of my own head. I saw the dust motes floating behind my left ear. I saw the expression on my face from the perspective of the houseplant in the corner. The portal didn't show a single point of view; it collapsed every possible perspective into a single, dizzying sphere of vision. portal 360
The government called it a surveillance nightmare. The philosophers called it the death of the self. I called it the answer. I saw myself at eight years old, from
The Portal 360 isn't a door. It’s a reminder. We spend our lives thinking the truth is straight ahead. But the truth is the thing you never see coming—because it’s already behind you, above you, beneath your feet, and living in the blind spot of your own heart. When I stood in front of it, I didn't see a reflection
You are already standing in the center of a sphere you cannot see.
360 degrees of time.
"Everywhere," I said, and my voice came from the ceiling, the floor, the walls, and the back of her own mind.