The Kendra Boyd

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Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

Writing Specific Characters

Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

Portraying the drug dealer.

Playing a rebellious character.

How to portray a sociopath.

How to write characters with PTSD.

Playing characters with memory loss.

Playing a pyromaniac.

How to write a mute character.

How to write a character with an OCD.

How to play a stoner.

Playing a character with an eating disorder.

Portraying a character who is anti-social.

Portraying a character who is depressed.

How to portray someone with dyslexia.

How to portray a character with bipolar disorder.

Portraying a character with severe depression.

How to play a serial killer.

Writing insane characters.

Playing a character under the influence of marijuana.

Tips on writing a drug addict.

How to write a character with HPD.

Writing a character with Nymphomania.

Writing a character with schizophrenia.

Writing a character with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Writing a character with depression.

Writing a character who suffers from night terrors.

Writing a character with paranoid personality disorder.

How to play a victim of rape.

How to play a mentally ill/insane character.

Writing a character who self-harms.

Writing a character who is high on amphetamines.

How to play the stalker.

How to portray a character high on cocaine.

Playing a character with ADHD.

How to play a sexual assault victim.

Writing a compulsive gambler.

Playing a character who is faking a disorder.

Playing a prisoner.

Portraying an emotionally detached character.

How to play a character with social anxiety.

Portraying a character who is high.

Portraying characters who have secrets.

Portraying a recovering alcoholic.

Portraying a sex addict.

How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

Playing a character under the influence of drugs.

Playing a character who struggles with Bulimia.

Illegal Activity

Examining Mob Mentality

How Street Gangs Work

Domestic Abuse

Torture

Assault

Murder

Terrorism

Internet Fraud

Cyberwarfare

Computer Viruses

Corporate Crime

Political Corruption

Drug Trafficking

Human Trafficking

Sex Trafficking

Illegal Immigration

Contemporary Slavery 

Black Market Prices & Profits

AK-47 prices on the black market

Bribes

Computer Hackers and Online Fraud

Contract Killing

Exotic Animals

Fake Diplomas

Fake ID Cards, Passports and Other Identity Documents

Human Smuggling Fees

Human Traffickers Prices

Kidney and Organ Trafficking Prices

Prostitution Prices

Cocaine Prices

Ecstasy Pills Prices

Heroin Prices

Marijuana Prices

Meth Prices

Earnings From Illegal Jobs

Countries In Order Of Largest To Smallest Risk

Forensics

arson

Asphyxia

Blood Analysis

Book Review

Cause & Manner of Death

Chemistry/Physics

Computers/Cell Phones/Electronics

Cool & Odd-Mostly Odd

Corpse Identification

Corpse Location

Crime and Science Radio

crime lab

Crime Scene

Cults and Religions

DNA

Document Examination

Fingerprints/Patterned Evidence

Firearms Analysis

Forensic Anthropology

Forensic Art

Forensic Dentistry

Forensic History

Forensic Psychiatry

General Forensics

Guest Blogger

High Tech Forensics

Interesting Cases

Interesting Places

Interviews

Medical History

Medical Issues

Misc

Multiple Murderers

On This Day

Poisons & Drugs

Police Procedure

Q&A

serial killers

Space Program

Stupid Criminals

Theft

Time of Death

Toxicology

Trauma

[thekendraboyd]

The Boy on the Bench, 2 Parts

Part 1

Soft curls strained to move with the wind, but the cap that squeezed his head kept them against the nape of his neck. Waiting, his eyes darted. Not along the welcoming page of his open book but to the strange people who walked by. The tap-tap-tap-taping of his foot offered chaos to the still people, but is of-pace to the hustle of the back-pack clad stranger’s half walking, half running to their next class because they stopped to talk to the die-hard Jesus fans. No words escaped his thin lips but a tight smile is presented to those he knows. He leaned forward, head tilted slightly down, just far enough, so he looks intrigued by the meaningless words. The eyes never stopped. Fingers shuffled clumsily through the pointless pages, almost nervously. A light, bright orange would glow off him, if anticipation was a color. It’d feel like when you run your fingers through the soft air at night during a car ride. But instead of refreshing it’d have a sense of weight and heaviness. The tapping transferred through his body to his fingers. He sat here, alone, on the same fading brown bench with the same useless book and the same cap that didn’t hide anything. He sat here every day waiting. Waiting for the one who wouldn’t show.  

Part 2

I know I’m not being subtle enough. I can feel their stares, their confused looks. Eyeing everyone, I’m making sure their faces aren’t the same as the face I knew so well. Can I blame them for judging? There is no way they could remember us sitting on this bench, the one that has a rusting plaque that reads “Dedicated to Mary Welch, a loyal fan” placed there because a rich family decided to pay the University money to have their daughter’s name on a couple planks of wood. The metal words have burned into my skull after months sitting here, trying to forget. Although Mary’s name was screwed on to the decaying planks, the bench was ours. Imprints of where we sat aren’t visible but the vibrations of life still lingers. Or so it seems to me. I don’t know why I do this to myself every day. The back of my throat gets dry and it gets hard to swallow and I can feel the tears try to escape my eyes even when I only pass by this collection of wood and screws. Looking at the faces of strangers is better than trying to remember the good ol’ days, well it at least keeps me from breaking down in public. As much as I am torturing myself sitting where we used to sit, where we used to be happy, I can’t bring myself to leave. The past may burn but the future could hold hotter flames.