GilThis is the first part of my short story Professor Cosma. Please, would you take a look at it and correct my mistakes.
Professor Cosma woke up at 6 in the morning, as
itwas his habit. He shuffled to the toilet where he had to tighten his muscles additionally to empty thehis bladder properly. That reminded him that he needed to see a doctor and makehave some unpleasant examinations - a plan which he postponed many times. He liked neither hospitals nor waiting rooms, especially when they were filled with old people like himself. He switched on the radio, and the kitchen was livened up by the voice of a newsreader,("newsreader" may be correct in certain areas, but "reporter" is more common) who was reeling off the number of killed and wounded in the war in the far away country. Being a historian, professor Cosma was not surprised at all. He had hundreds of proofs of human evil since the historians started to record them for posterity. One did not need to have a PhD to understand that human beings had not changed in the last thousands years. (This is incorrect. Either make it, "...in the last thousand years", or, "...in the past thousands of years".)
They had successfully eradicated many illnesses which had killed their fellow human beings in millions, but they were unable to eradicate bigotry, prejudice, hatred, envy, greed, and all other evils, which easily transmute human beings into the most dangerous creatures on earth.
He made himself strong black tea with three spoonfuls of honey and then sat at the table watching the trees swaying in the wind in his garden. It was the beginning of September, and although the days were still warm, one could smell autumn approaching unstoppably. If his wife had been still alive, she would have already gone outside and swept off all the fallen leaves and twigs. Professor Cosma, however, did not bother, and he decided to wait a week or two before taking a broom and sweeping the patio.
Three years had passed since she had died, and after her funeral he did not have any visitors. Nor did he lack them. His interaction with other people consisted of occasionally chatting with his neighbours, checkout girls at the supermarket and telephone calls with a daughter who lived abroad, and who he had not seen since his wife’s funeral. He knew well that people saw him as an old bitter man whose death would come as a relief from his grumpiness and bitterness. But he did not care any longer about what people thought and said; he simply ignored them. They could never have imagined what he went through, and how he painfully climbed out of the abyss.
To be continued
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