The scientists were baffled. Unlike any theoretical wormhole, this aperture didn't lead to another galaxy or a parallel dimension. It led here . Exactly here. But from every angle at once.
It began as a glitch in the periphery. A shimmer, no larger than a coin, hovering in the dead center of my living room. But within a week, it had grown to the size of a doorway. They called it the Portal 360 —not because it was a circle, but because it saw everything.
Welcome to the 360° view.
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.
Close your eyes. Turn around slowly.
I reached out and touched the glass.
"Everywhere," I said, and my voice came from the ceiling, the floor, the walls, and the back of her own mind. portal 360
At first, it was intoxicating. I watched myself argue. From the ceiling’s vantage, my anger looked small—a tiny, hunched mammal making noises. From the floor’s vantage, my feet looked tired, rooted to the carpet like ancient trees. I learned more about myself in an hour than in a lifetime of introspection.