The people were loud and the dinosaurs were silent to all of them. The colossal lizards had been dead for nearly 70 million years, yet they were still standing. They overlooked the light children, the dark children, and the elderly with arthritis shivering through their bodies. A couple thousand men and women passed through this museum every day, but their eyes were often glazed. Nothing of any substance emerged from their mouths, making them as mechanical as buzzing robots. Somehow the dinosaurs were more alive than the tourists. 

Yet the dinosaurs were the ones proclaimed dead. The word “extinct” echoed from their bones and contributed to the thunder of all the visitors’ “Look!”s and “Wow!”s. Of course, none of the people heard anything besides themselves. Man had lost his ability to listen too many generations ago.

But the dinosaurs continued to speak. They told the walls never to forget them even if the museum staff one day decided to replace them with a new exhibit because the public was bored with them. The ceilings and floors told the dinosaurs that they would remember Iguanadon and T. Rex. The doors would remember every fossil that had ever been on exhibit. After all, a species can only go extinct once---and the dinosaurs refused to die again.