Please, would you proofread the fourth part of my short story The President.
Thinking about blood and pain has a negative effect on the Presidentís gastrointestinal tract, and he immediately turns his head away from the window. He starts chewing faster, eager to finish his breakfast and come out into the sunny day. He needs to be outside and breathe the fresh air, hear birds singing and chirping, insects buzzing above the scented plants, and trees whispering in the breeze. He is becoming weary of these thick walls, bulletproof windows and secure, massive doors. And above all, he is becoming weary of all these attendants, assistants, guards and other personnel who bow and scrape and give him a smile, but who certainly hate him from the bottom of their hearts and would like to see him disappear from the surface of this planet.
Human nature has not changed fundamentally in the last ten thousand years, which means that the servants of today are like their colleagues of the past. The only thing which prevents them from stubbing or poising him is probably the fear of harsh punishment. Even though he has helped almost everyone of them in all possible ways, they would be more than happy to see him collapse, lose his battles and disgrace himself.
Still chewing the last remains of his breakfast, the President shuffles back to his bedroom. Before opening its door he is alleviated to hear Vivaldiís Spring coming out of the toilet. He is in no mood to have a discussion with his wife. Knowing her, she would certainly preach to him about the universal ethical values, international laws, compassion, and similar rubbish he has already listened to thousands of times. He is not interested in theories, ideas and endless, empty speculation but in facts and brutal reality. He cannot allow himself the self-indulgence of a philosopher or political scientist who can spend weeks and months squabbling over doctrines and postulations, only to discard them later on. They enjoy in their games like children in a daycare centre. If they smash something or cause some kind of damage people outside would not even notice. But in his case, a wrong decision could have catastrophic consequences.
To survive he must be a magician, hypnotist, manipulator, psychologist, businessman and scoundrel. And all this at the same time, twenty four hours a day. With these thoughts in his mind, he takes off his silk pyjamas and hand-made slippers and puts on his presidential clothes: white shirt with golden cufflinks, dark tie, dark suit and trousers. He puts his woollen socks on, (woollen because he suffers from a bad circulation), and works his feet into the black patent leather shoes. Finally he puts his heavy golden Rolex on his left wrist. Anxious about bumping into his wife, he does not bother to examine himself in the mirror but hurries outside into the garden, his sanctuary.
To be continued.