From that day on, her family home had become a house of cards. Her foundation was no more solid than a floor of Jack's, Queens and Aces. Her family was based on a falsehood, and thus everything that went on in her home was a sham. She was in a web of lies. And in the center of that magnificent web, was a spider. A spider that she loved with all of her heart; a black widow whom she treasured. Her grandmother had spun a silken masterpiece, a symmetrical tour de force, with threads that were nearly transparent, save for their sliminess, which glistened in the morning sun. Which gland had her grandmother used this time? Was she merely spinning thread to make a safety line, or was she making sticky silk for trapping prey? Or today might she be producing the finest of her threads to completely wrap and envelop the fly?  She is still trying to understand the web that the spider wove over time. The spider had created netting so complicated and coarse, that the spider was ultimately trapped in her own trap, and she became her own prey. The spider was strangled by the complex maze of threads that she herself had created. The spider had become the fly.

The Truth was the real Super Hero in this story. At first, the truth only barely seeped out; it was a trickle, if that. But soon thereafter the trickle became a flow, and that flow grew in strength and magnitude, and it became a river, which overtook the banks of our reality. The truth has a way of doing that. You can suppress it for a time, but it has a strange way of wriggling out; it is a little like a Houdini. This truth was eventually set free, and one by one we learned the facts about who he really was. Her childhood was based on a lie which destroyed her family. Would she let that define her? Would she learn to keep secrets and lies as she was taught? Or would truth eventually become her battle cry? She knew one thing for certain. She was going to experience every bit that life has to offer.  She was going to go fishing for color.

     As a child, there was only one thing that I knew for certain was real. And that was that we were all dying.
     A few years later, I wrote a poem entitled “Mortality Mocks Me.” My mother said, “You’re far too young to have anything mock you, much less mortality.” But it always had, from my earliest memories.
     One might think that this awareness would have sent me into an existential depression. It certainly led to obsessive thoughts. But more than anything, it made me determined not to live an ordinary life. I refused to merely exist; to consume, excrete, slumber, defecate and breathe. I wanted to be more than a biological machine programmed for endless repetition, or a passive recipient of circumstances. I
wanted to give my mind permission to wander fearless and thirsty, to wholly be a fool, to seek experiences with passion, and find mercy in living fully.
     I wanted to live a vivacious life. I wanted to focus on searching for authenticity. I wanted to find the space that kept the stars apart. I wanted to discover every hue, shade and tint that this universe offers. I wanted to search for pigment in the void of light. It made no sense to me to merely lie on the dock and stare up at a sky which we all can see. I wanted to cast my line into the water, and go fishing for what I could not see. I wanted to catch the color.

Cathy Voisard is a poet, writer and author of the new novel Gone Fishing For Color. Cathy has written three previous fiction novels, a book of poetry and a collection of short stories. She has always looked forward to publishing her memoir, as she has had a colorful and unusual life. Cathy has an AA in English Literature from College of San Mateo and a BA in English Literature from San Francisco State University with a minor in Creative Writing. Cathy grew up in the quixotic town of Half Moon Bay, CA, where most of her stories originate.