I might have summed this entire thing up by saying, "I'm satiated," but that wouldn't be the entire truth. The entire truth would be: "I am satiated and much wiser." In conclusion let me point out that this is only one man's opinion. I have intentionally been harsh in my estimates, maybe some points are in need of qualification or elucidation, but by and large, I stand back of what I have written here. AMEN. * * * * * THE ABOVE ARTICLE IS SUBJECT TO CRITICISM--THEREFORE ANY AND ALL FANS AND AUTHORS WHO DISAGREE WILL FIND THEIR ARTICLES AGAINST THIS ONE BY A FAMOUS AUTHOR WELCOMED AND PRINTED IN THE WINTER EDITION OF FUFA!. THE WINTER EDITION WILL BE OUT DURING THE MONTH OF DECEMBER--SO CONTRIBUTIONS SHOULD BE MAILED IMMEDIATELY TO FUTURIA FANTASIA--3054-1/2 West 12th Street, Los Angeles. (EDITOR) * * * * * [Illustration] FUTURIA VOLUME ONE NO. THREE FANTASIA! OUT IN DECEMBER TEN CENTS Contributions welcomed. Short stories preferred. No personal stuff or caustic feuding. Humor wanted. Material bought but never paid for--so what can you lose? We suggest you send a quarter for the next 3 issues of Futuria Fantasia and save yourselves a nickel. Contributing Authors/ Willy Ley, Rocklynne, Hasse, Kuttner, Ackerman, Corvais Satan's Mistress by Doug Rogers Where flames of purgatory twist, and Earth's transgressors dwell, She dances swathed in heated mist, before the gates of Hell. Her gleaming naked body flees before the Demon fires, Along the shores of molten seas--ridged high by fuming pyres. Her hair, a liquid cape of flame, whips hot about her breasts, A strumpet in the Devil's name, which he alone invests, Gives power to a woman born of brimstone, steam and smoke, Her soul, a spark in early morn, flares up to share the yoke Of evil Mephistopheles upon his throne of death, Unheeding shrieks and doleful pleas choked out by dying breath. The Devil's Mistress dances down thru dungeons carved from bone, Upon her head the sinner's crown, each jewel a sigh, a moan. Before the wailing souls in caves, tossed down from earthly things, To charred and cindered minds of slaves her dancing passion brings. Then, tired of her evil joke, and laughing at her games, She draws about her fiery cloak to vanish in the flames. Lost Soul by Henry Hasse