Still, I thought this was a worthy attempt at literature:
When your dear people suffer you are ready to do anything to rid them off the torture. But unfortunately quite often we simply cannot do anything that would help. I m 52 and I work as a fireman. I have two grown up children - my elder son Jim is 29 and my daughter Alison is nearly 20. They are everything to me that s why I starve to spend all my free time with them. Jim and I are fond of mountains and rock climbing. Every summer we go in the mountains for a week or so. Last summer we went for a week and a half in June. We have been in the mountains for 5 days already and have gone far away from the town when by some horrible occasion Jim fell off in a deepish gorge. I was paralyzed, I saw him lying on the bottom of the gorge groaning. Then I regained my self-control and managed to climb down into the gorge. Jim felt terribly, from time to time he lost his consciousness. It seemed as if he got his hip and his spine broken. I would not be able to get him into the town by myself. He was trembling with pain; it was unbearable to watch your child suffering. When I called emergency line they told me that they would try to find us as soon as it was possible but until that time I had to stop Jim s pain as his heart could not possibly stand it. I started pottering in our knapsacks and fortunately I found out that my wife had put some pain-killer into my knapsack before our departure. It was Tramadol, I have never heard about it, and I was not sure whether it was powerful enough to help Jim, but I had no choice. I gave him two pills. Gradually he stopped groaning and fell asleep as I thought. They found us 3 hours later. In the hospital they told me that Jim s spine was not broken but it was damaged greatly and every breath hurt him enormously. They also said that if it were not for the pain-killer my son wouldn t be still alive. Do I have to say anything else about my gratitude towards this medicine and my wife?
This is followed by a web link that I'm not inclined to follow and won't pass on here. It probably connects to a server based in India or the Ukraine where they smuggle and ship millions of orders worldwide. We are merely the end of the chain.
Nor will I pass on the name of the author. Who knows if the author still lives, or ever lived, or where he/she lives? Perhaps the author is himself a construction of the machine. Or maybe its the transcript of a conversation once held and long since fading away.
Still there is gratitude, for both the medicine and the wife.