Aside from a few grammatical errors the story is good. I did have a problem with what seemed to be some incongruities in the story. It seems to me that this country had a fairly open and free press and that the citizens could approach the President with complaints. Most dictators would not allow a free press or allow citizens the right of protest. One of the first things a dictator will do is to control all of the news outlets. Consider how Hitler and Stalin controlled the news in their countries. Even today, some countries (Consider some of the Asian countries) will say that any news which is determental to the country is treason.Please, would you take a look at the sixth part of my short story, The President, and correct my mistakes.
After about an hour or so, the President returns inside. He sneaks through the residence and enters his office. He sits down on his comfortable black leather chair and puts his arms on the large wooden writing desk. His eyes sweep the spacious room, and a sense of uneasiness creeps into his mind. Heavy brown curtains cover large windows keeping the sun at bay. On the walls hang the dark portraits of the former Presidents and other important historical figures. They are all deadly serious, as if they had never experienced any joy in their lives. The President wonders if they had had the same kind of feelings like he now has. Did they wake up bathing in sweat? Did they cry when nobody ("no one" sounds better) was around? His huge office feels now (Nothing really wrong here, but "now feels" is more common) like a cave without light and exit. He will end his life buried alive, begging in vain for help, covered in his own excrement.
Something is writhing in his stomach, twisting in his guts, and sapping his energy. He wishes he could run away and hide somewhere in the mountains where he will never meet another human being as long as he is alive. His hands begin to shake and he knows that he must react until it is too late. Like a drowning man clutching at straws, he presses the button under the desk.
The door opens slightly, but before his personal secretary has time to say anything, the President shouts in a strangulated voice, “The File!” The door closes silently only to be open again a few seconds later by the same person, this time carrying a thin file in a black folder. The young, impeccably-dressed man is soundless; his well-polished shoes sink into the thick, soft carpet as he approaches the President. He opens the file, puts it down on the desk and takes a step aside. With a shaky hand the President picks up the black fountain pen with a gold nib and signs the document, which will be the most important signature he has ever written in his life. As if by magic, his trembling disappears and a strange feeling of satisfaction, even elation, fills his mind. He dismisses his secretary with a wave of his hand, and when the door closes behind him, the President jumps up and clenches his fist. “Yes! I’ve done it!” I’ve done it!” she shouts, pacing the room with excitement, like a student who has just passed
thean (Remember that "the" points to a particular exam) exam. Bursting with energy, he leaves the office and, with long, rapid strides andfinds himself in the kitchen.
“Could you please bring some snacks
in("to" or "into")the TV room,” he tells the startled cook, who cannot remember ever seeing the President in such a buoyant mood (Given the mood which you have set here, I doubt if the President would say "please". I believe that he would demand some snacks, not request them). “You know what I like: peanuts, pistachios, burnt almonds, pumpkin seeds, crackers...” He hurries down the hall, his heart pounding with excitement, and bursts into the TV room. He switches the large TV on, opens the refrigerator, takes out a beer can (Hmmm..."beer can" is fine, but "a can of beer is better here) and settles himself comfortably on the sofa. He opens the beer can (Here, I would delete "can" and just write, "He opens the beer...") and takes a deep swig of the cold liquid, which has a positive effect on his mind. This is more interesting than the Olympic Games, more exciting than WM in football, he thinks. He will never forget these moments: the build-up, the uncertainty, the wait, and the expectancy. Soon a Breaking News caption is going to flash on the screen, and the first rockets and missiles are going to rain over (They may "rain over", but "rain down on" is more to the point) the faraway country causing massive destruction. Deafening explosions, huge fires, destroyed towns and villages, thousands of charred bodies, men, women and children without limbs and without access to a hospital. He has become the greatest director of all time, the master of spectacle and the sovereign over life and death. How long is he going to be so euphoric? How long before he starts to cry?
Student or Learner