The Raids (a Fortnite poem by me)
On Fortnite island (couldn’t think of a better name) there were Raids every day and every night, the island was havoc, the paths were grass and our guns were nearly empty.
In Tilted it started to smell of old bullets so my G built walls to stop the bullets but the walls got destroyed and eventually we fell onto the ground, I thought there could be waves of bullets and we would die.
The lightning lit up our faces and the thunder rolled round the storm eye, eventually the gunfire stopped as the storm moved closer but the wall of a building in Tilted was so destroyed that I shot it down.
Oh look said my G there’s helpless players.
(K I’m done)