Spectator

Hi, it's me -K

Hi,

before you start reading, I need to warn you. This book, I don't know who it belong to or who wrote it. I tried to figure out who it belongs to by reading it, but it didn't help. So I kept it, for years, not knowing what to do with it. It had been gathering dust and the ink started to faint every time I read it. Because that's what it did to me. I read it. Then I read it again, and again, and it would tell me new things.
Now it's here, as a book, so I can keep reading it over and over again. I also hope to share the story of this beautiful person. This amazing spectator, who sees the world in a different light then we do. I want to make you stop, stand still, and experience what they did. Because there is some magic in this world that I didn't know existed.

As an extra, I want to try to find who wrote this. If you can manage to find any clues, and figure it out, please contact whoever wrote this. He, or she, was a wonderful spectator. Oh and, I added one note to the story as well in the hope this will help and not make it more confusing.

As a good detective does, I will share you all I know about what happened.

It was a late noon and it must have been late summer because it was still quite sunny and warm, but not boiling. I was heading home from seeing some friends and was waiting a bus stop in the town Amsterdam around 5 pm. This wasn't an ordinary bus stop, this one had two benches, but I can't seem to remember where it was or what the name was. It has been quite some years now.. I had been hanging out with friends, looked on my phone to see which bus stop I needed to go to and where to get off. I walked up the road, sat down and saw this group of teenagers sitting on the other one. A couple were standing and others were sitting. They must have been there for a while, and it looked like they had nothing to worry about.

I wasn't really paying attention to anything, I just had been sitting there, listening to half of their sentences and the joyful laughter. Then the rushing sound of a bus arrived. I looked up, noticed it wasn't the one I needed and I just looked away again. But then within moments one of the voices from the group changed to a panicky tone and all of a sudden I see them running to the bus, all grabbing onto their bags and each other.
Again, I didn't think much of it. They must have been so caught up in the chat that they didn't notice it was their bus. My gaze was glued to the half running, stumbling group of people, and then in the corner of my eye I saw it laying there. The faded blue notebook on the second bench. I rushed up, grabbed it and turn around to wave it to them. But then, the doors of the bus closed, and it drove off.

That's it. What then? You're standing there, with someone's notebook, without a name to who it could belong. On the front all it said was "Spectator". I opened the notebook in the hope the name or maybe even phone number would be on the first page. No success either. I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't just leave it there and I took it home.

A week later it was still laying on my cabinet in the hallway and I decided to bring it to the police station. They asked if I knew their name or anything, and I said no. The police officer didn't seem to care much about it and answered that they would just throw it away, and somehow that felt wrong. I've tried to find her, or him, but I couldn't. Now it's up to you. Read it, try to find out, and don't forget to spectate everything that comes by.

- K. - The every day's nobody