Cognitive Distortion

Mickie Welkie was abruptly awakened from the horrid screams of torment coming from the abyss below her. She could feel that she was moving somehow, but it was not of her own free will. Her groggy mind attempted to make sense of the surrounding area, as she found herself lying naked on a cold and sterile medical table, shackled by unknown forces that held her in place as she swayed back and forth. Panic surged within her decrepit soul as she realized what was occurring. She was being transported down a dimly lit hallway that seemed to stretch infinitely into the shadows ahead. Each agonizing movement as she tussling back and forth on the medical table only served to deepen the dread that was building within her, amplifying the impending doom that awaited her. The hallway exuded an eerie ambiance, its walls cloaked in layers of cobwebs and peeling paint, as if the passage itself had succumbed to the decay of time. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast an unsteady glow. Their pale illumination creating a grotesque shadow that danced ominously across the damp, neglected floor. The air was heavy, laden with a stale and suffocating presence that seemed to seep into Mickie's very soul. Suddenly the movement stopped, as Mickie heard the elevator button push. The wheels shrieked, as they proceeded forward then rotated clockwise inside the elevator shaft as the elevator greeted her to take her to her doom. As she descended downward, she could not tell the difference between what fiction was, and what was reality. She could feel within her body that she had been drugged with something. So many questions ran through her mind, but she could not even form a complete thought. Her many lingering questions was soon answered when the elevator doors opened and the pungent putrid smell of death, ubiquitous in nature, struck her nose like 1000 arrows being shot into the sky destined to kill its intended prey. It was a scent that spoke of death's imminence, a ruthless reminder that the boundary between life and the afterlife had been breached. Mickie Welkie felt like she had been thrown into a nightmare, but she knew that this was all too real. The darkness that surrounded her felt suffocating, and she was certain that she was in a place that no one would ever find her. Her stomach churned as her mind tried to make sense of what was happening. As she entered in and out of consciousness, Mickie could not tell how much time had gone by. It was hard for her to get a lucid picture of the past events that took place. She remembered leaving her office on a rainy Tuesday afternoon as she walked towards her grey fully loaded Tesla Model S P90D, with its ludicrous speed upgrade. It had cost her around $142,000 but allowed her the pleasure of having autopilot. If she had known this would be the last thoughts she would ever think, she would not have wasted them thinking such frivolous thoughts. Amid her mental turmoil, a haunting question clawed its way to the forefront of Mickie's thoughts —how could someone be teetering on the precipice of death while still harboring ambitions of ascending higher in the Bureaucratic ranks? Earlier in her career Mickie had transitioned from a state level prosecutor to becoming a federal prosecutor, propelled by a high-profile case that made national headlines back in the Spring of 1991. It involved a family man, who for some inexplicable reason had choose to throw his life away by confessing to the murder of the then U.S. Attorney General. A position Mickie herself now held. The U.S. Attorney's Office in Chicago serves the Northern District of Illinois and is one of 93 U.S. Attorney's Offices across the country responsible for prosecuting federal crimes and representing the United States in civil litigation. Mickie had spent her recent years there as the U.S. Attorney General, but her ambitions extended far beyond that—Speaker of the House, Vice President, First Female President—the sky was the limit for her in her mind. Before her ascend, she had made a name for herself, prosecuting corrupt senators, police officers, and drug kingpins, some of whom had been her own acquaintances at one point. She had compromised her integrity, accepting bribes to secure a higher status in society. Because her family was indigent growing up, it left her longing for a life of opulence that she could never afford on her meager salary, at least not at that point in her career. As the motion of the medical table abruptly ceased, a heavy silence settled in the room, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the muffled sound of Mickie's own labored breaths. The air somehow grew even colder, the temperature plummeting as if mirroring the chilling terror that gripped her heart. A see-through shroud, once partially concealing Mickie's face was removed exposing her desolate pupils to a blinding flash of light from above, as her vision tried to adjust. There was a low humming sound coming from the fluorescent lighting permeating the room. Everything that had once been precarious to Mickie suddenly became vividly clear to her. Someone had fought for their life in this very room and lost, and now she was the one who was going to suffer the same fate. The room revealed itself to be a theater of unspeakable horrors, lit with an infernal illumination that cast a grotesque shadow upon every surface. The walls bore the gruesome testimony of a struggle, with blood and handprints smeared across the walls, a testament to the brutality inflicted upon previous victims. Gory bloodstains streaked across the peeling wallpaper, their vibrant red contrasting sharply against the sickly pale hue. The bloody handprints left behind told a story of a desperate struggle, as it left spectral traces that clawed their way toward Mickie. A visceral reminder of the horrors that awaited her.