The parasite came from another world. It entered the minds of humans at random, jumping from one to the next. It spread like a white blankness through their thoughts, living off whatever creative energies were produced.
It encountered next to no resistance. The humans hardly even noticed it was there. They still ate and slept, still went to work, still did their jobs (though in a far more bureaucratic manner than previously). And when they had finished with their responsibilities, they simply sat and consumed the creative work of others. They lay back on their sofas and chairs and pointed their eyes at a screen which fed outsourced creativity into their minds for the parasite to feed on.
The last ones to resist were the writers. Already accustomed to fighting off lethargy, fatigue, writer’s block, and lack of motivation, they battled the parasite at every turn. They held on to their own creative energy and wrote, one word after another. Even when it wasn’t very good.