The Hall Of Mirrors

My cousin went travelling a lot. After every journey she always wished that she could pop back to the countries she had travelled to, just for a second.

And now you can.

You can attach a path from the back of you house to the peace garden from Nagasaki. Walk straight through a wooden door into a mountain cabin in Trollheim. Sit at your favourite pub in Randallstown in your living room. Think of the money you save on flights. 

It was only ever meant to be a bit of fun. Garden gnomes on a quantum level. But people went way too far with it. They installed a perfect sunset from Arizona on their living room wall, and missed weeks of working staring at the golden majesty. Paramedics reported bite wounds from Cuban crocodiles in the high-rise flats of Manchester. The residents of a council estate in Northampton fled from waves born in the Pacific ocean. 

Then someone worked out how to put yourself in your own room. The world watch themselves all day, every day in a permanent moving self-portrait. Soon everyone watched the back of their head watching the back of their head, and so on in a hall of mirrors, until the concept of the outside world meant nothing at all.