The Last Customer

The choices you make, make you.-Michelle Liew.

This is for Mikeydred's January prompt.

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Marla had always loved singing. Everyone who heard her told her she deserved far better than her job at a fast food diner. She even had an offer from a small-time music producer to cut a jazz album - she always had a feel for jazz pop.

Faced with single motherhood and daunting bills, Marla didn't have a choice but to take a minimum wage job. The album? it was a pipe dream, at least for now.

The doorbell gave a sonorous chime as Marla wiped down the counter. Endless cleaning had wrinkled and stiffened her fingers. As midnight drew near, Marla's patience wore thin- she had to be home to ensure that her teenage baby sitter didn't spend too much time watching television.

A man, dapper in a white suit and tie, strolled in, his shoes clicking rhythmically against the mosaic tiles. His intense blue eyes were pale, yet warm.

“A tiramisu cake, please,” he instructed, flipping his wallet open and leaving exact change on the counter.

Marla frowned. “We're closing soon.” She hinted, hoping that he would leave.

The man slid comfortably onto a bar stool. “Come now, miss. One cake won't hurt,” He cajoled with a grin.

She poured the coffee and watched as he took in its aroma. “Brazilian. Lovely,” he complimented. Marla nodded, somewhat comforted by the kind words. The damaged streetlights flickered outside, casting ominous shadows. The man was charming, but - odd. Something about him disturbed her.

“Busy evening?” she tried to make small talk.

“Yes, something like that. That's why I'm here only now,” he replied, staring out the window as if trying to read the secrets of the passersby.

Despite the discomfort, Marla found herself increasingly drawn to him. He seemed both familiar and utterly foreign.

“You don't remember who I am, do you?” he asked abruptly, meeting her gaze.

She froze. “Should I?”

He grinned again. “I'm the chance you didn't take. The life you avoided living.”

Marla's heart thumped wildly as the man's features shifted-becoming younger, then older, then… herself. But pale. Withdrawn.

“You made choices that brought you here. Perhaps you had to. But you can change this tonight.” His voice took on a singsong lilt, eerily similar to hers.

Marla's fingers trembled as she picked up his dirty plate. “Change…what? This?” She lifted it slightly.

The man stood and pushed the door to the diner open. “I'm sure you know,” he said as he stepped out, dissolving into the night.

Marla glanced at the clock. Midnight. On the counter was a handwritten note.

Close the diner. Go live on your YouTube Channel.

She stared at it, her breath caught between fear and exhilaration. Then, with trembling hands, she touched the sign on the door.