Thunder does it Your hands do it Haters deserve it Antibiotics cure it You'll do it when you solve it

Small in size but built to fly, I seek a targets watchful eye. Thrown by hand with careful art, I aim to find the very heart.

I look like snow, but my colors are wrong; I fall from the air after fire burns strong. I darken the sky, and can choke the air, Waiting for the wind to carry me elsewhere.

A common tool for gardeners and fire fighters. I look like a snake spitting water.

The Texas instrument that's lacking keys. No adding, multipliers, or parentheses. Subtract and divide, those are the choices. And there may be some unpleasant noises.