MIDTERM EXAM: PART 2 Imagine two or more characters or authors from the stories we've read are having. a dinner party. They are discussing the moders al question: What is the allure of fear (What makes fear so fascinating?) Write a script of their conversation,showing what cold person fear based experiences or ideas from the texts. Be creative and have fun with their personalities and 1 PAGE MINIMUMII Example Script Characters: Roderick Usher (The Fall of the House of Usher) and Irene (House Taken Over) Setting: A small, dim dining room. The table is set with simple food and a single candle. Roderick Usher: LLooking around nervously) This room feels strange. Too quiet. Do you ever get the feeling something is watching you, even when you're alone? Irene: (Calmly sipping her tea) Oh, I know that feeling. My brother and I lived with it for years. At first, it ass just one part of the house we avoided. Then it grew. Roderick Usher: (Leaning forward)It grew? Like a living thing? That's exactly how I felt in my home! The fear seeped into the walk, Latomy mind. I couldn't escape it.

## The Allure of Fear: A Dinner Party<br /><br />**Characters:** The Narrator (from “The Tell-Tale Heart”), Montresor (from “The Cask of Amontillado”), and Mrs. Mallard (from “The Story of an Hour”)<br /><br />**Setting:** A dimly lit, somewhat claustrophobic dining room. A single flickering candelabra casts long, dancing shadows. The table is set with untouched, elaborate dishes, covered with silver domes.<br /><br />**Narrator:** (Wringing his hands, eyes darting nervously around the room) I assure you, the beating…it’s nothing. Just a slight palpitation. Perfectly normal. Quite normal, in fact.<br /><br />**Montresor:** (Swirling a glass of dark red wine, a subtle smile playing on his lips) A palpitation, you say? Perhaps a touch of…nerves? I find a good vintage can often soothe such…afflictions.<br /><br />**Mrs. Mallard:** (Staring into the flickering candlelight, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her face) Nerves, indeed. Sometimes, the most unsettling sensations…are the ones we cannot quite place. The ones that whisper just beneath the surface.<br /><br />**Narrator:** (His voice rising in pitch) Whisper? It’s more of a…thumping. A distinct, rhythmic thumping. But I assure you, it’s nothing to be concerned about. Nothing at all.<br /><br />**Montresor:** (Chuckling softly) My dear fellow, concern is the spice of life! Without a touch of apprehension, how would we truly savor the…sweetness of existence? The thrill of the chase, the anticipation of the…inevitable?<br /><br />**Mrs. Mallard:** (Turning to Montresor, her eyes gleaming with a newfound intensity) Inevitable? Is that what you find so alluring about fear, Mr. Montresor? The sense of impending doom? The knowledge that something…is coming?<br /><br />**Montresor:** (Raising his glass in a mock toast) Precisely, Mrs. Mallard. The delicious dance with destiny. The exquisite tension between hope and…despair. It’s intoxicating, isn’t it?<br /><br />**Narrator:** (Suddenly standing, his eyes wide with terror) Intoxicating? It’s…consuming! It’s devouring me! I can’t…I can’t escape it!<br /><br />**Mrs. Mallard:** (Watching the Narrator with a mixture of pity and fascination) Escape? Perhaps that’s the true allure of fear, Mr. …(hesitates, looking at the Narrator’s agitated state) …sir. The desperate, futile struggle to escape the inevitable. The realization that we are all, ultimately…trapped.<br /><br />**Montresor:** (His smile widening, revealing a hint of something darker) Trapped, indeed. By our own minds, our own desires, our own…fears. And sometimes, Mrs. Mallard, by the carefully crafted designs of others.<br /><br />**Narrator:** (Pacing back and forth, clutching his head) The beating! It’s getting louder! Louder! I can’t…I can’t stand it anymore!<br /><br />**Mrs. Mallard:** (A strange sense of calm washing over her) Perhaps, sir, you simply need to…embrace it. Surrender to the fear. Let it consume you.<br /><br />**Montresor:** (Nodding in agreement) A most insightful observation, Mrs. Mallard. After all, what is fear but a heightened awareness of our own…mortality? A reminder of the precious, fleeting nature of…everything.<br /><br />**Narrator:** (Collapsing back into his chair, his face pale and drawn) Everything…yes…everything…<br /><br />He sits there, trembling, as Montresor refills his glass with the dark red wine, the flickering candlelight casting long, distorted shadows on the walls, the untouched food growing cold beneath the silver domes. Mrs. Mallard continues to stare into the flame, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on her lips, as if she has finally understood the true allure of fear.<br />