Atlas Shrugged

The street was in utter disarray. A family sedan had careened off the road and tore itself almost in half  through a lamppost at the roadside. The lamppost had dutifully thrown itself violently into a storefront, waves of sparks from the transformer setting fire to window displays and stock like a match to a curtain. Superman arrived shortly after. He stepped out of the sky as if he'd just come off an escalator, glorious red cape billowing in the air.

There were soft, pain-induced moans emanating from the car wreck. A few people staggered here and there in the street sooty and bleeding from various small wounds, injured by proxy. A crowd made up of interested onlookers formed a safe distance away from the harsh flames. Superman caught up with the crowd and nestled in behind a cluster of construction workers, business people and other generic career types. He wasn't making any apparent effort to intervene. He flapped his lips softly as though mildly bored.

Horrified by the suffering before her a woman shouted for someone to do something. Everyone but Superman seemed to gather that this clamouring was aimed at him. Superman asked if anyone had called an ambulance or the fire service and there was a bit of an awkward silence before a couple of people began to fumble for their phones. Superman walked up to the wreckage and asked the semi-conscious driver if he was ok. He looked at the burning building sadly for some time while there was a growing sense that the crowd had turned against him. A few sexual expletives were used. He addressed the congregation; said something like 'people have to help themselves once in a while'. It was hard to make out over all the disappointment. 

Rather than fly off like an artillery shell he just turned and walked off up the street, his glorious suit of primary colours visible in the distance until attention was diverted to the nearby glow of arriving sirens.