There was a time that a man from the future showed up at Martha Kent’s house when Clark Kent was twelve years old. The man was dressed in an outlandish blue and gold costume with a star on his chest and beside him hovered a golden football that he spoke with. Clark was off at school, but the man didn’t set off any warnings that Martha had(n’t) learned.
For one thing, he just stood outside the house like a damn fool with a look of awe on his face.
“Wow. Skeets, you’re getting this, right?” He said.
“Of course, sir. We are in the same general vicinity after all,” the football said.
“This is serious Skeets,” the man exclaimed. “This is living history, this is where it all began!”
Martha got her shotgun.
The little football spotted her coming their way and called out a warning to the man. He turned around and she caught a glimpse of puzzlement before he spotted the gun. Unlike Martha’s fears, he didn’t attack her. He didn’t tell her why her son had to die. The man simply put his hands in the air.
“Mrs. Kent, I apologize for the intrusion. I’m not even supposed to be here, but I had to see.”
Martha did not lower the shotgun. “Who are you? Why are you here?” She demanded.
The man slowly took off the gaudy headpiece, revealing a normal looking man with blue eyes and blonde hair. “My name is Michael Jon Carter, ma'am. I’m from the twenty-fifth century. I… Your son inspired me to do what I do. I’m not really supposed to be here, but I had to see where it all began.”
The man smiled slightly. “And I was supposed to investigate several aborted time loops, but I think that’s been solved, don’t you, Skeets?”
“Indeed, sir,” said the football.
Then he was gone. Martha was not standing outside with her shotgun, there was no man outside.
There never had been.