I'd known him since I was seven. We were best friends. He said it'd be forever.He had long brown hair that fell regally to his shoulders; he barely ever cut it. He always said it was because of his mom, but that excuse only worked until junior high. By then, they knew him. They knew he lived alone.
He was gorgeous. He had spectacular green eyes that would peer into your soul, except for when the grey overtook them, and the green expanses turned to dark, cloudy pools of sadness. It only happened when he cried. And when he cried, it made the whole world dark.
I loved him. I never knew it but I did. He seemed to know what you were thinking, and he always understood. He was short, only about five-foot-four, and a bit chubby. But, boy, could he move. What a dancer, when the rare time came that he would let himself get carried away by the music. But it was only when no one was watching, or everyone was watching. Only when the music was all you could hear, or if there was no music at all. Only when no one cared who he was, or when everyone wanted to know. He was a man of extremes. That was James.
LAST NIGHT, JAMES HUXLEY, A MISSING PERSON FOR OVER TWO YEARS, WAS FOUND DEAD IN A PITTSBURGH APARTMENT. THE CAUSE OF HIS DEATH IS STILL UNKNOWN. HE MAY HAVE BEEN STRANGLED OR SUFFOCATED, BUT THERE ARE NO SIGNS. AT THE TIME OF HIS DISCOVERY, EYEWITNESSES SAY THAT BRUISES COVERED HIS ARMS, LEGS, AND CHEST. RECORDS PROVE THAT HE HAD NO REMAINING FAMILY MEMBERS, AND NO ONE HAS COME FORWARD AS AN AQUAINTENCE.