The anticipation for the electric car race in our class had been building for weeks. It was a thrilling project that brought together students to design and build their own electric vehicles. Our group consisted of me, Ryan, Scott, and Oscar, and we were all excited to take on the challenge.

We spent countless hours brainstorming, designing, and assembling our electric car as if it were our own baby. At first, it seemed like a fun and productive collaboration. We had divided tasks, with Scott and me handling the technical aspects while Oscar and Ryan took charge of the aesthetics and finishing touches.

As the project progressed, however, tensions within our group began to simmer. Ryan, usually known for his sharp wit and humor, started criticizing our work from the sidelines. His comments were subtle but cutting, and they began to erode our teamwork.

Oscar, who was passionate about the design and aesthetics of the car, felt particularly targeted by Ryan’s critiques.

“Ryan, if you think you can do better, why don’t you come over here and do it yourself?” Oscar shouted, his irritation palpable.

Ryan however, took Oscar’s words as a sword aimed directly at him. He moved closer, and the two of them began to argue about the direction of the project. Their voices grew louder, and their disagreement escalated into a heated argument.

Scott and I, caught in the nuclear war happening, attempted to mediate and find a compromise. But it was too late. In the heat of the moment, something went terribly wrong, and our carefully crafted electric car ended up damaged, with wires disconnected and components scattered on the workshop table.

The realization of what had transpired left us stunned. Our once-promising project was now in shambles, a casualty of the conflict between Oscar and Ryan. The tension in our group had escalated to a point where it had tangible consequences, and our electric car, the culmination of our hard work, lay broken before us. Seeing the destruction of our hearts and souls, like a broken piece of our own meat, it was clear that Ryan was dead for sure.

“RYAN, GO TO HELL AND GO AWAY!” I shouted, but the damage had been done, and that vase was for nothing.