Are you even from Guam if you've never thrown a balati at someone whilst having a balati fight in the middle of the ocean?
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The balati quivers under sea, hearing the rambunctious humans splish-splashing about, knowing full well that he could not wiggle away fast enough.
A hand cuts the waves above him, scooping him up from under his belly. He feels the rush of wind, as he is whipped through the air. Then he is flying, a sensation similar to swimming, though he doesn't know that-- he doesn't swim. He just squirms on the sand. But he IS flying, a short flight, his aerodynamic body is gliding, like a beautiful sausage of the sea, until finally he hits his target. The cheek of another human being. Thwap.
His whole body is slammed against fleshy cheek fat, maybe a bit of a cheekbone. Then he falls. He falls, falls, falls back into the water. His home. The sweet ocean water that he knows and loves.
He oozes from heartbreak.
The humans laugh. They scream with laughter.
He cries. His tears become the ocean, and he is forgotten.
The little balati that flew. The balati bullet.
-j
