Polished cars adorned the sloping driveways – from the outside it seemed like a good neighbourhood.
Our first call of the day, was to the last house in the street.
His lips were blue; his torn jeans soiled. A cloudy, blood-filled syringe still dangled from an arm riddled with the signatures of self-harm.
As we bagged and lifted the body I noticed the poster above his bed – Clark Kent and Lois Lane standing amidst the Ice Palace’s crisscrossing, frozen columns. Yet even then, in that tragic moment, I knew this had been no superman, just a boy whose desperate cries for help had gone unheard.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge