Portal - 360

For forty years, I had lived inside the prison of my own eyes. I knew my wife’s smile from the front, but never the gentle curve of her neck when she thought I wasn't looking. I knew my own hands from above, but never the fierce grip of them from below, as if they were climbing a rope. The Portal 360 offered the one thing humanity had never truly possessed:

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. portal 360

I reached out and touched the glass.

360 degrees of time.

My wife found me on the third day, sitting cross-legged in front of the shimmer. "You're disappearing," she said. I turned to look at her—really look, with just my two flawed, human eyes. And for a split second, I saw her through the portal’s periphery: from the angle of the first time we met, and the angle of the last time we would ever fight, and the angle of her tears at a funeral that hadn't happened yet. For forty years, I had lived inside the

The portal didn't pull. It folded . In an instant, I wasn't looking at the sphere of all perspectives. I was standing inside it. I could see my wife’s face from 360 directions simultaneously—every worry, every hope, every secret glance she had ever given me when I wasn't paying attention. The Portal 360 offered the one thing humanity