They took a step back, thought about it, what should they do?

Right, since I have to do homework ALL DAY anyway, I thought I'd post up my short story here and see a response! And then take the opposite for Mr. Harrison's response! Because Mr. Harrison is a crackhead! But I like him anyway, so what the hell!

Alice sat on the porch swing. Chips of the peeling white paint rained down on the wooden floor, the only snow Chesterton, Alabama had seen in God-knows-how-long. The honeysuckle that had defiantly and stealthily began to claim the house snaked its way up the elegant railing seeming desperate to reach the frail old woman.
Alice’s body had been falling apart for some time now.
Now it was her mind’s turn.
Fear traveled in currents throughout her body, born from the insanity brewing in the last safe place she had claimed as her own. The house was going to be repossessed; it was no longer safe. Her husband’s arms had long since shriveled away to nothing in his quiet grave; safety couldn’t be found in her marriage.
And now her mind chose to walk this path of insecurity as well.
Alice had known this would happen. George Washington had predicted it without saying a word. His beady black eyes followed her more closely than ever. He stood by the sharp knives, refusing to let her indulge in the cooking she loved so much. And he would not let her leave the house.
She obeyed him and trusted him completely. Within George’s green feathers was love for Alice that nobody, not even her last living grandchildren, could ever duplicate.
For the past weeks she had been worrying and waiting, barely sleeping, rarely eating, living on the frightened beating of her heart. Her terror drove her, a more sustaining life force than any other she had experienced.
And she continued to wait.
It was July 1st. Her days grew short; her face grew haggard; her breath grew heavy. Sooner than she could have hoped, dear Emily would call Max, insisting that they spend the fourth at Alice’s humble home.
‘Humble,’ ‘quaint:’ these were Emily’s words to describe the large falling-down country home Alice’s husband had left to her. The roof sagged, as though one of those planes, streaking through the sky at an altitude Alice could not imagine, had once laid down for a nap on top of the house. The paint peeled, desperate to escape the walls owned by a crazy person.
Alice, too, was desperate to escape.
But until Emily arrived, tugging her anxious cousin by the hand, Alice would stay here and allow her mind to become more impermeable than the vines oozing out of the long grass and wrapping themselves around the house.
Sweet Emily, whose face Alice could not picture.
The last living members of her family did not care for her, this she knew. But they would be here, feeling proud of their compassion towards the spinster. They would check up on her and make sure she was in the best condition one in her position might be expected to be
And they were bringing a friend.
Not Emily’s husband or Max’s boyfriend. A doctor.
And it was the doctor, with his shiny, shiny instruments and long words, that Alice feared the most.
Sitting on the porch half-expectantly, Alice’s muscles rippled with the flight instinct that went deeper than the insanity. She knew something was hunting her, and she wasn’t a fighter.
She was a runner.
The sun’s last rays, deflected by the roof overhead, lit up the long grass surrounding Alice’s country home. Her husband had often praised the Alabama sun, warmer and more comfortable than the sun in any other place in the world.
Alice, trying desperately to conjure up an image of her dear Martin, dead so many years, rose to her unsteady feet. “Martin?” she called feebly as she pulled forward the broken screen door.
“No, just me, darling,” George Washington answered, flying towards her. He perched precariously on her weak shoulder and looked into her murky blue eyes, crooning softly, “Hello.”
“Martin, dear–”
“Not Martin.”
“Yes, you are George. You are George,” Alice reminded herself quietly. “George, Max and Emily are coming to stay. They’re coming with a friend.”
George Washington exploded off her shoulders in a cloud of green and yellow feathers. “Oh, boy!” he shrieked, flapping his unclipped wings around the kitchen, causing more destruction than Alice, even in her unsteady state, could have ever done. Or cleaned up.
Alice’s panic was a quiet panic. She would not act upon it.
Instead, she swore, I shall wait.