Nick Winkworth and Nick Piche


Nick Winkworth
“The Last Thing”

Created using Nick Piche’s story (below) as inspiration

Early Morning Train
By Nick Piche

I couldn’t wait any longer.  I was in a hurry.  I looked down the tunnel.  Stared down it is more what I did.  It couldn’t come fast enough.  I could feel the watch on my wrist tick every second away as though it was telling me, “I want you to notice every last moment you have to wait.”  Didn’t this damn train know I wanted to be somewhere?  Insensitive, merciless hunk of garbage.  It knew it had power over me.  There was nothing I could do to hurry the damn thing along.  Not that I didn’t try.  I tapped my foot, hopped up and down slightly, and paced back and forth—useless.

It was so early in the morning not a soul was on the platform.  I was awaiting the first train of the day, and I needed it to get here fast, but it was not willing to oblige.  I don’t know how long I waited.  Truth is, I don’t want to know.

Finally the dark-as-dark tunnel began to show some light.  Almost like the sunrise I’m sure was happening at the same time.  Brighter and brighter it grew.  I could feel the excitement of my departure rise.  Still, the light took its merry time getting through the tunnel.  There I stood in the biggest hurry of my life and this damn thing was acting like it was a slow Sunday morning, as if we were all just going out for tea.

The smooth sound of speeding metal brushing over the electric track hit my ears and the tension grew more.  “Come on train,” I murmured with intense anticipation.  The wind of the train’s force through the tunnel swooped in the open station and whipped around the platform.  It smacked me in the face and somehow made me feel more alive.  It reminded me of the breeze off the lake in the early morning when I camped with my family.  It was like warm summer afternoons when all you begged for was cold water and a cool breeze.

These memories made me less hurried to my destination.  In fact, I wanted to abandon my plans all together and go enjoy the weather one more time, but it was too late.  The train barreled down on me with a slick swiftness.  The last thing I saw was its piercing bright light.



Nick Winkworth
“Flight of the Imagination”

Inspiration piece provided to Nick Piche

The Nothingness
By Nick Piche

He stood at the edge of the world looking out into the dark endless nothing that seemed to go on forever, though it might have only stretched mere feet. It was a blackness that swallowed any light that ventured near. It resembled all of the universe’s death and despair. Even to a crow, the sight of it was overwhelming.

That day, the crow flew higher than any bird ever dared. It was a goal, a feat, an accomplishment for which he longed. Alone he climbed up into the heavens. As he flew higher the edge of the sky slowly turned into a wall. It was a thick structure that bore no markings other than the mortar between the large concrete slabs that created it. His flight had already tired him, but his curiosity was peaked, so he fought his aching wings and flew higher.

He flew along the wall until he reached the top. Tired from his long journey the crow decided to rest on the wall until he had the energy to make it back to the ground. The sun still shined on this part of the world, so he sat for a moment and spread his wings to bask in its rays. The warmth felt good on his weary limbs.

He looked down on the opposite side of the wall and saw a disembodied light that surrounded the perimeter. There was no way this light was made by the sun. It could not penetrate the wall. Beyond the unusual light was pure nothingness—a darkness that sent chills through the crow’s body by the sheer sight of it. This strange light seemed to come from the direction of the nothingness, but its exact source was concealed.

The light in front of him, despite its brightness, cast no shadow behind him. However, the light that beat on his back from the sun etched his common shadow down the wall into the mysterious light.

The awe that this sight struck in him kept the crow peering out into the nothingness for hours. As time passed the sun began to dive into the horizon behind him casting his shadow further through the otherworldly light and into the nothingness.

He felt a strange pull on the outlines of his body as though someone was tugging at his skin. When the pull became pain the crow tried to move from the edge and ascend back to the ground, but his talons were fixed to the wall of concrete.

His shadow overstepped the boundary of light and dark and the nothingness began to pull it in little by little. Trying as hard as he could to fly away, the crow could do nothing but flap. Feverishly his wings threw feathers in every direction. Without notice the majority of his black feathers were sucked into the nothingness and quickly disappeared from sight.

Fear gripped him as though he were in the jaws of an alligator. Excruciating pain ripped through the outside of his body. Still he fought frantically, but there was nothing he could do. He was planted where he stood as his shadow continued to tear away. With no understanding of what was happening he continued to thrash out of control. He summoned every muscle, every once of energy to free him, but still his feet did not move.

Finally the last piece of his shadow tore away from him and sunk into the nothingness. As it did the crows feet released from the wall and he shot into the sky. As fast as he could he flew down to the ground, almost falling the entire way. He flapped only enough to keep from plunging to his death. When he was only feet from the ground he pulled his wings into his body and fell the rest of the way into a lush green field. Reeling from the pain, he turned over and over again in the grass as though trying to put out engulfing flames.

After what seemed like eternity of thrashing on the ground the merciful sun set and the moon rose to cool his pains. He lay motionless on the ground with the pains of burning flesh being extinguished. Quickly he fell asleep from exhaustion, too injured to fly up and rest in a tree.

He awoke in the morning as the sun made its way over the hills and hopped to his feet. The pain was gone, but he felt so different. He spread his wings to bask them in the sun, but could not feel its warmth. He looked into the sun, but it did not burn his eyes. He turned from the sun, but he saw no shadow. It was now part of the nothingness and the sun simply passed through him. He was not dead, nor was he a ghost, but never again did he feel alive.

Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.


  1. […] here is my collaboration with Nick Piche: The Last Thing (Click for […]

  2. Nick and Nick: I loved these pieces. The photos are beautiful, and I can’t imagine how you were able to capture the second image so beautifully. I also really liked both written pieces, particularly the first one, which had a very tense energy and forward momentum and a startling ending. My favorite line in the second piece: His shadow overstepped the boundary of light and dark and the nothingness began to pull it in little by little.

    All very cool.

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