War

Again my enemy approaches. His movements should be so obvious, so transparent, but he takes advantage of my lack of focus and slips away from my grasp. When I finally capture him, he will still have the moral victory of being constantly present and constantly irritating. Every day I fight this battle, in an endless war of attrition, in the vain hope that this time will be different, this time I will emerge victorious, having finally been able to properly insert my contact lenses.
The finger, bearing its translucent, malevolent payload, approaches my eye. Gah! Eyelash. I blink furiously, clearing the tears welled up from a hundred and thirty million years of mammalian evolution. The contact laughs. No, it cackles, cackles with the knowledge of one more failure amidst hundreds past. I glare at it through unremedied blurry vision. This time my eyes reflexively close as the lens touches them, turning it neatly inside out and dropping it into the sink. This time it remains silent, but I can feel the malicious joy radiating from its mockingly fragile body.
One last time I make the attempt, concentrating furiously on holding my eyes open, open, open to receive that which alternately plagues and supports me.

It goes in.

Oh.

That was easy.