A young boy soundlessly screams into the darkness. A woman's hands wrapping his face, maybe as a megaphone, increasing a potential sound. The boy’s head floats in the darkness in the wings-like woman hands, resonating the detail of a divine cherub in a classical painting.
However, this messenger is a complete opposite to the classical one, he is not a chubby-dreamy-innocent creature, inspiring love on his surroundings. This messenger is uncontrollable. As if it had been captured amidst a nightmare.
A woman hands, most probably his mother’s hands, are there to protect him. He screams, even though she is there with him holding his face. He cannot be awakened from his fear. He screams 200 times, his screams seem to be embedded in his jenetics. The hands which are now protecting him, belong to the one who screamed this exact scream before him. The scream is handed down from one generation to the next. Why does he scream? From the first to the last scream of humankind, and all the screams in between, these questions have personal and generational answers.