First paragraph of my short story. Please give critique
>During one of daily walks to mountain I saw Shtifter once again hitting a rock a with a giant iron mallet and boiling with anger in the blue after the sunset. He does this when he has “one of those days”, that’s how takes it all out. If he was born as a barbarian 500 years in the place of that rock there would have been a human skull. Now the upbringing confines the beast to the inorganic. As I got close to him I felt the bass of mallet’s blow becoming one with dub of my heart beat. I fear my spine could be in place of that rock if something snapped in the minutes to come but if try to come at me I would take him off the cliff and into the dark chink where my fear of fall dwells, two broken stars shot downward in hopes of blowing up the earth on the impact. Hesitantly I approached Shtifter. His sweat was pouring down from his head and into his eyes. He was twitching his eyes to reduce the effect of bitter spears of sweat stinging his eyes. In his vision he must be in some kind of mystical state of snapping in and out of a dream, blackness then blue images, then sting of sweat then a blow of mallet then blackness once again, birth and death happening at the same time and all of this flowing with the background song of moths.