Being Accurate

Frank tried to adjust his left hand.  It was beginning to cramp up just as his right hand had done just five minutes prior.  Hanging from the small tree root eighty five feet above a collection of shale made the idea of a drop very unappealing.

The details of just how Frank arrived in such a predicament are too mundane and actually irrelevant for this story.  What is important is his response.

"Frank, what happened?" Jerry called from three feet above him.  "That's really not important right now," Frank responded, "I'm in a bit of a fix though."  

A slight pause was heard from three feet above Frank's head.  "So what do you want me to do," Frank called again.  "Nothing," Frank responded.  "There is nothing you can do."  Puzzled, Frank spoke again.  "But dude, I've got that 25 foot climbing rope in the back of the truck.  I could have you out of there in no time."  Frank's response was almost a bark.  "No!  I said.  There is nothing you can do."

Jerry sat at the edge of the cliff and pulled out his phone.  "Do you want me to call someone?  It looks like I have two bars."  "No," Frank responded again in exasperation, "now stop taking to me about this."  Jerry stood up and scratched his head.   He started to talk again, but caught himself.

After a minute, he sat down again on his haunches and peered over the edge.  "You can't save me, Jerry," Frank grunted.  "Only God can do that.  It would be an insult to suggest otherwise."

The last thing Jerry heard was a sudden whoop, a combination of a holler and a prayer and then silence.  Jerry returned to his truck and called 911.