This is the second part of my short story, please would you proofread it.
The dictator never dared to speak to anyone about his plight. Instead, he masterly kept the mask of a satisfied leader who never suffered nor felt any feebleness. He knew that any sign of weakness could have been interpreted as a crack in his armour which would have caused enormous joy in his enemies who would seen their chance to get rid of him. It took him months until he spoke to his doctor about his depression. The old man listened to him politely and patiently looking at him steadily through his thick glasses and stroking his grey goat beard. At times he lowered his eyes to jot notes down in his notebook, and in the end he advised the dictator to take long strolls in the woods and the countryside and gave him some pills which he should take every morning and evening.
He did exactly what the doctor had told him, but nothing helped.He walked in the woods but did not hear the chirping of the birds, nor buzzing of insects, nor the rustle of the wind in the grass, nor did he notice a hundred of years old trees and their huge tops. Meadows were bursting with colourful and scented flowers, but he was unable to see them with his weary eyes. He was walking like in a bubble which prevented him to feel the beauty of nature.
One day the dictator had a very boring day and decided to fly in his private plane and see the country from the sky. His two pilots, four guards and he took off after the lunch. Everything went according to the schedule. The weather was sunny and there were no clouds on the blue sky. They were flying to the north when suddenly the plane started to lose altitude. Before anyone could do anything they crushed into a remote mountainside. When the dictator got over the shock there was an eerie silence around him broken only by the sizzling sound coming from the machine.
Almost new plane has become a pile of metal and glass jumbled together with body parts, dirt and blood.He understood he was the only person who had survived. The faces of the others were distorted in horrific masks which reminded him of death, which he by the way, feared more than anything. The possibility of him being killed and lying in the rubble with his twisted face made him shudder. His eyes fell on his clothes covered in blood and dust and he knew that it was a great wonder that he was still alive. He felt pain in his body as if he had been hit by a lorry, yet nothing was broken and he could move his limbs without difficulty.
To be continued...