New Writing

Hello, just a bit of writing I threw together, maybe the start of a book, or something, would LOVE feedback.

He stood, listening to the roar of the water falling around him. Water, suddenly and insistently cold, seeped in through the small holes sewn through the side of his shoes. A soft wind tickled the insides edges of his fingers, and the air smelled heavy and wet.
He held breathlessly still for a moment, savoring the heavy rumble of the water as bombarded the slick black earth below; savoring the soft, fishlike flitter as parted and found its way around the slick black rocks behind him; savoring the accelerative whoosh and barely discernable hiss as it separated from itself and fell in a thousand tiny darts to explode against the ground below. He waited until he could hear the soft, high sound of the raindrops falling from his fingers, hear the smallest rhythms and melodies of the water in their own silent, secret world before he opened his eyes. Nothing to it. He jumped.
For a moment nothing hung in the air like lead. The realization of nothing against his feet, nothing on his hands, nothing in front of him but a thousand foot bridge of water, leading to a thundering cloud struck him bodily, and for a moment he was left alone with the mist on his face and a cold yellow tightening in the darkest pits of his mind.
Nothing to it.
The rocks behind him ascended skyward with a quickly rising surety as the air slowly began a jealous wail around him him, angry for his trespass into its private realms.
The weight at his belt, his heavy shirt, his warm boots all became weightless, now only a consideration of angular momentum against the void. His heart pounded, eyes bulging, unblinking, the cascade of white water spinning above and below him now, his eyes caught in the steam, every muscle and fiber in his body screaming against what faced him.
Death. Sudden, quick, and only death. Nothing to it. Seeping into him like the cold on his feet. Dripping into him like the condensation from his fingers. Filling his lungs to capacity so he could inhale only fire. He choked on death.
Liquid hate welled up in his belly. Hate for the long life he could have had. Hate for the warmth of the woman who loved him’s arms, whose touch he would never again feel. Hate for the memories past that would soon be dashed upon the rocks and the ones to come that he would never feel sink in.
Death thundered at him like the eternity of years, like the knowledge that one day the all suns would all burn out and everyone, everywhere would be separated from everyone they ever knew, that the kingdoms would crumble and fall, the kings and their wealth would crumble to nothing, and everyone that ever loved would know the pain of darkness and meager death. He was alone as life rumbled past him like an inferno, like water below.
His heart rumbled deep, like the water below.
His pulse pounded to the rhythm of the water below.
He opened his eyes again, having forgotten they were shut, and glimpsed ahead of him the water falling.
The air seemed to still its screaming, as the singular and unique drops floated gracefully through the air, merging with one another, breaking away again, playing their tiny dripping bell tones. Light lanced through them and played on their little bubbles of air as they and he fell, and he saw for the first time as they danced their dance of separateness and oneness.
They, unlike he, seemed unconcerned about the coming death, their smash on the rocks, loss of all memory and shape, their explosion into the atoms from which they were composed, the death of their brief lives. They merely continued on their dance together and apart, lackadaisical, uncaring, with the knowledge and acceptance of the fact they were but temporary things, things destined to smash, death from below, their death inherent in their selves. Like me.
He extended a hand, falling steady now, head down, and they played along it, freezing against his skin, soft and gentle, eating and spouting light, laughing, almost, and crying one another, accepting him as one of their own.
And he smiled too, laughing, almost, though the sound was lost to his own ears, with the knowledge that very few creatures who walked upright and called themselves men had ever seen it from this angle, and chances were even fewer allowed themselves to appreciate it.
Uh-oh.
Here came the cloud.
With a WHOOSH he was in the center of a roaring cloud, and he reached to the floating was-a-weight on his belt, drawing it’s cold, sure firmness from it’s scabbard and ignited the fire within. It burst suddenly along the blade, exploding blue in the mist, and he formed a burning cocoon of protective will around himself even as he fell, exploding a burning force downward beneath him until he hung, suspended where the water should be was it not exploded, spherical around him with the force of his want. For a moment it glittered, dark and green and white at the edges while he felt a stronger, more familiar force than cold gravity lift him and rip him upward through the sky with a thunder crack and lance of light.
The water exploded angry behind him, eager to reclaim it’s rightful space and angry for having been deprived, and he smiled, gliding along lazily above the dark fir trees, his new friends floating around him, wetting the air.
Ah well. Time to stop fooling around. Things to do.
With that, a burst and a crack of light, he sheared between things and leapt back to his castle in the sky.