Outside the morgue, some families say their last goodbyes.
Other parents hoped, begged, that their children had survived. But many did not.
Two boys lie side by side as they had been playing.
And here lies Jamal Eli Yan.
His father, Saleh, is a driver for CBS News. This was his family day off.
Jamal was 10. He liked soccer. His smile was winsome.
Some children were playing with toy guns in the cool of the afternoon.
The round came in here. It is still smoldering hours later.
Right next to it, there was a man selling chips and snacks to the kids. And over here, a swing set where the children were playing.
From the morgue, the body is carried down the street.
"Oh God, God," Saleh said, crying.
Friends and family brought Jamal home.
It was too much for Jamal's mother, Anwar.
Too much for grandmother Aziz.
All afternoon, there were funeral processions -- one after another, after another.
This one was for Jamal.
Some children couldn't even watch as their friends went by.
At the mosque, prayers for small bodies.
Saleh began the day as the proud father of a charming, skinny 10-year-old son. Now, there is grief and one terrible thing more -- that when a parent loses a child, the tears will never end.