Bulb

There was a bulb, a calla lily bulb and it was waiting to be planted, it was a rare color, bronze with streaks of gold.

Bulb

The light swung from the rafters in the dusty old cathedral, the moss of ages sat moldering on the stone, and the air was thick with history. It was long since torches were used, and the light hid more than it revealed.

Bulb 2

So the bulb was mottled and injured, broken. He cursed. It was the last one he had, the last of the other ones he'd managed to salvage from the garden. Her garden. He wanted to weep, cry, scream. Because this one wouldn't grow. He would lose the last memory he had of her. She would be dead forever, just like her garden.

He let the bulb fall.

Bulb 1

The bulb hung from the ceiling by a chain, dim, stark against the already stark concrete walls of the cell. He didn't know what they thought the would get out of him. If it was torture, he'd probably survived worse. If it was interrogation, well, he could out-chat the best of them. And if it was killing...that was an entirely different matter. He was probably the best killer of them all.
Because he didn't need a gun or knife.

He was Gabriel.

He could kill with his mind.

He was a telepath.