You open the door and make your way out of the room. You hear the sighs of relief and the beginnings of whispered conversation through the open door.
You are inside the kitchen, there are a few pots on the stove bubbling, and the oven is on. The smells of Holiday dinner invade your nostrils. It's pleasant.
You see your Grandmother sitting at the table, there is a KNIFE BLOCK, DRYING DISHES, and A CUTTING BOARD on the counter. There is a door to the NORTH and an open door to the EAST.
I also do which isn't much, but it's enough for me.
You walk up to Grandma, who still hasn't moved and see that she's not moving at all. She's frozen stiff, with a drink in front of her, a couple of her pill strips, the kind you get when you need a take a wide variety of pills on different days, and a letter.
I also do which isn't much, but it's enough for me.