First page or so of a novel I may or may not write, what do you think?

Question

Rage.
It consumed him.
It coursed through his veins like a drug, forcing him onwards.
A force intangible yet unrelenting.
Through the trees and bushes he ran, thorns and briars ripping at his skin.
The cool night air whipped through him, but couldn’t cool the burning pain.
This was not the pain of the flesh wounds, they were insignificant, this was immense; the fire inside him, driving him insane, keeping him in a state of perpetual agony. To him this torture would never end, but would have to be released somehow.
At this point only he mattered. There was only him and the pain. Any soul in his way would face naught but paroxysms of rage.
He clumsily sprinted on, not yet knowing where each foot should land, or when.
A hunger was growing inside him which couldn’t be ignored.
It started to rain but he kept running, the droplets steaming off his burning back, he didn’t know where or why, but he kept running.

Instinct had taken over and it seemed as if his nose was leading the way.
He no longer saw as he used to. Image was black and white, but smells and sounds overlaid it with vivid streams of bright colour.
As he raced through the woodlands he felt detached from his actions, as if watching from a different perspective. He didn’t know what he was doing, he only knew that he was doing it.
He surged through to the edge of the forest, panting and out of breath, but he continued on, as many had done before him, through instinct alone, over the rocky ground until he reached the edge of a great cliff.
Here, finally, the rage allowed him to stop.
He paused for a few moments, regained his breath, then tilted his head towards the heavens and gazed at the great lunar orb that he now hated and feared.
And then, for some ancient reason completely unknown to himself, in a final phenomenal release of agony and ecstasy, he let out a tormented and primal howl.

Answer 1

Half of it sounds like poetry, some of it is somewhat cliched, you need to lose the faux classical language like "naught" and "paroxsysms" If this creature is really running on rage, then those words are antithetical to the mood you are trying to create. Wouldn't the rain do something to cool the engines and order the thoughts somehow? Clumsily sprinting is kind of an oxymoron, unless he is injured or in pain. Rage is not clumsy, rage is streamlined like a train. Whether this is a Werewolf, wolf, dog or hamster, it wouldn't pause for the niceties of "soul." Anything that got in it's way was meat, or prey. Leave the soul to the theorists, you are dealing with the beast here, and you need to use the beast's thought patterns or step more into third person.

Just my ramblings. Hope they help. Enjoyed the read overall, hope it all works out for you.

Answer 2

he's a wolf now? i'll be honest - so many bigger words only bore people. it's easier for people to read like how they talk. hence why so many public high schoolers dislike reading - they talk almost a whole different language then almost every book ever written! but it's very nicely written ^_^

Answer 3

Hmmm, sounds to me as if "he" is a werewolf, or just a wolf, or a regular dog, or just some crazy guy, If I do say so myself. That's my expert opinion

Answer 4

The rewrite is getting better. Congrats. Pax- C

Answer 5

WOW. That's really good! Continue!

Answer 6

doesnt that make the 2nd page the 1st page?