Disclaimer: I do not own South Park
So this is a rather odd idea inspired by nothing at all.
The pairing is Ze molexChristophe. So yea he has a relationship with himself.
Enjoy!
Christophe looked in the mirror. His hair was covered in blood, the grime stained his skin, and scars littered his body from years of abuse.
"No wonder Gregoree left you" A person appeared beside him. He had a similar appearance, only more bloodied and he dragged his shovel along the ground, always scraping, ready to attack.
"Shut up" His mercenary self, Ze Mole, had appeared in these apparitions shortly after his beloved Gregory had left. Since then it had only gotten more realistic and mocking.
"Naw, doe poor 'Tophe meess 'is playboy?" It always had a smug look on its face. Christophe would like nothing more than to wipe that off its face.
He swung his shovel. It cut through the air, sliced the Ze Mole in half, and crashed into the mirror. Shards splintered and fell to the ground, reflecting the little light in the room.
Christophe stood panting and let his shovel fall to the ground. He was relieved that Ze Mole could no longer taunt him, drive him further towards insanity.
"You deedn't zink eet was zat easy, deed you 'Tophe" The smug look was back. It was mocking. Telling him it would never leave him alone, it would always be waiting to pounce.
He considered taking a shower and quickly dismissed it. He didn't want the thing to see him nude. It was something about the predatory look in its eyes that made him uncomfortable.
Instead he went to bed in his filthy clothes. It wasn't as if he'd bothered with cleaning after his beloved had left.
"Oh are we zinking about 'im again? You know, I never took you to be a weak one" It was pressed against his back, whispering it's mocking words in his ear, hands winding around his waist.
"My my 'ow skeeny you 'ave gotten. It's all zat Breetish beetches fault"
Christophe turned to face Ze Mole. He wasn't going to let it push him around anymore.
"Yees I am sad 'e 'as left. He was an angel, so never call him a beetch again. 'E wsa ze best zing zat 'ad ever 'appened to me in zis fucked up lijfe!"
Ze Mole leaned over so there noses were just touching and brushed a bloody lock from Christophe's face.
"Yea, well now you got me. All you need is me"
And with that, lips meet, hands roamed, legs tangled, bodies touched and sweat mixed.
Christophe knew it was wrong. He knew Ze Mole was just a figment of his imagination. But right now, he just needed some form of human contact to make everything alright.
Meanwhile, six feet under in the backyard lay a body that could once have been identified as Gregory of Yardale, a shovel wound to the head.
This reminds me of secret garden in a way...
Reviews are appreciated!