Douma is the largest rebel-held town in the eastern Ghouta area, on the eastern outskirts of the Syrian capital Damascus. With more than 100,000 residents trapped under a government siege since 2013, life in Douma revolves around the rhythm of bombs. When the bombing starts, Douma’s streets lie deserted -- except for the ambulances frantically transporting rescue workers and paramedics to the scene of an air strike. In 2015 the rural town was recorded as suffering from the highest number of fatalities since the start of the uprising against President Bashar al-Assad in March 2011, according to the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights. This suffering continues as civilians fall victim to the shelling leaving those who survive the cascading rubble the responsibility to practice rushed spiritual rituals to bury their loved ones. Wrapping the body in shrouds for burial is one of the only funeral rites that time and resources can afford in a town where the number of victims is ceaseless. Mourners can only pray that their children will rest in peace far from the horrors of a life of war in which they grew up. In this project I photograph children for the last time before their bodies are burried, in an attempt to document war crimes committed against children in my hometown, yet at the same time preserve the dignity of these children in hope that they don't become mere numbers in the eyes of the international community.