Picture this. Static cars, idling engines, angry horns.

Now, picture you, zooming past it all.

Light and breezy.

Ah, the sweet feeling of whizzing past traffic.

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These aren't the stories your mother told you.

No, these are the other stories.

50-year lie, written by Daniel Wilcox, narrated by Ian McEwen.

If nothing else makes this transmission at all, I want to share one simple truth. My name is Neil Armstrong, and you've been lied to.

I release my finger from the control panel.

Count to three, take another deep breath, and repeat the words.

You've been lied to.

I continue this process for 30 minutes.

My hand shaking as I press the button again and mutter into the worn microphone.

It's much colder out here in the exposed, empty surface of the moon.

I can barely see the ship's console through the scum that has built on the inside of my helmet over years of

neglect, and the biting winds are beginning to kick up dust. I look cautiously around for any sign of

them, then confirming the cratered landscape to be clear, complete my ritual.

Repeat the message.

When I'm done, I sigh, spin on my heels, take a few long, low gravity steps, and begin my race back,

all the while watching my peripheries for any sign of movement.

...