There was nothing but immense blue. The sky above was blue, as well as the sea beneath. The black metal pillar left a dark indent on the calm waves. Calypso just awoke. She was slouching on the side of the circular rim, which her body melt into the smooth curve. The metal was getting warm under the sunlight, but the coolness still remained.

She could hear the beating of the clock tower’s metal heart and see the hands rotating above her. On her right was the wooden floor and the interior filled with metal gears, on her left was the sheer drop that led to the ocean below.

She could smell the salty wind and feel its touch on her face. The sky was cloudless. There was nothing but the sea. Out of boredom, she started to read the book beside her.

The clock tower was strangely well furnished. It has several floors, some decorated into living rooms that was filled with sofa and chairs; some into bedrooms, which Calypso found no interest in. But one floor, with spiraling wooden bookshelves filling the circular floor to its entirety, always amazed her. It was her first time seeing this many books in such a small space. Back in her hometown in Crete, there wasn’t many books around, except somewhere in the mayor’s office storage room. But it was not a time for her to think about the past too much.

The book beside her, she would reckon, was not very interesting. It was about a boy who went astray and started to think he murdered his father. There was also an old man talking to cats. Maybe it was more confusing than boring. She couldn’t understand the descriptions of cities, of railways, of cars, of libraries, and of the people. So, she closed it and placed it by her side.

The sea was still calm, almost too calm. The waves mingled together into a huge mirror, reflecting the sky. Calypso started to think about what she saw.

It was a stormy afternoon. The clock tower brought her to a grass-covered cliff, near a stone-built church. It wasn’t much to see. Then a strange and nameless person approached her with his beloved ghost, which she couldn’t see. The sky was grey. The only color was the faint and desaturated green of the grass. She listened to him talk.

“He lived in the limbo, a place between life and death.”

A grey area, beside the two opposites. Calypso’s eyes were filled with waves of the ocean, he said. Between many aimless nights, passing time through stargazing, cursing the sky when the clouds blocked the distant starlight. Between many aimless mornings, marveling at the sunrise or still in sound sleep. Between many aimless afternoons, staring at the ubiquitous blue sea.

He did say something else. Scotland. Maybe the world was not just Crete and the ocean. Maybe other islands like Scotland existed, somewhere in the infinite blue, with people living on them. Many of the books in the spiraling library were not in Greek. Luckily, dictionaries and guides of different languages were there.

It was quite astonishing that the man in Scotland Cliff (she decided to name him that) could speak Greek.

The face of the ocean changed suddenly. The sky darkened as impending storm approached the tower. Huge clumps of thick, rolling clouds gathered together, blocking the blue beyond. Waves were soaring below. She grabbed the book and moved away from the opened clock face.

The tremendous waves accumulated on the clock tower’s base. Some crashed into its dark metal surface, but the tower was unshaken. The sky roared and clouds splinted, with rain splashing down. The clock’s rim was almost wet. But Calypso did not intend to go down the top floor. She wanted to see the storm.

The tower, as if aware of the storm, ascended in a calm manner to free itself from the splashing of the waves. Everywhere outside was dark. The ocean erupted into clamor of waves and water. The fury and strength of the waves could be felt by just looking at it. But the clock tower did not quiver.

The whole world mingled into a dark, colorless void. Inside there was nothing, not even the starlight in the night sky. The clock tower’s metal heart was still pumping in smothered stumps. The clinging of the metal gears could still be heard. But the storm eroded the clear, crystal sounds. The rain and wind and waves and thunder mingled into each other, leaving nothing but the darkness ahead.

The sound was unbearable. The pages of the book seemed to be shredded into pieces. The thoughts of the Scotland Cliff were cut short. The huge maelstrom of sounds lured her into the danger. The fury of the ocean consumed everything, from the clouds in the sky to the islands scattered on it like starlight in the night.

Maybe the clock tower quivered. Maybe the book was shredded into pieces. Maybe her thoughts were obliterated into fractures. She covered her head. Sweet dark, sweet darling, was the storm there?

Silence. Then the thunder and clashing waves disappeared. Calypso blinked. The outside was dark, but not as chaotic as during the storm. It was nighttime already, but no stars could be seen. The sea was calmer. The sky was silent. Only the beating of the metal heart could be heard. Only the dimly lit clock tower interior could be seen. It seemed like only she and the clock tower existed.