Fortnite Took Over My School—And It’s Tearing Kids Apart

My name is Joshua and every day when I arrive at school, it starts like any normal morning. The bell rings, friends greet each other, teachers prepare for lessons, and the chatter builds across the corridors. At first glance, everything seems the same. But when you listen closely, you start to notice a shift—something subtle, but growing louder. The topics of conversation have changed. The energy in the room feels different. More and more, the focus is turning away from schoolwork, hobbies, or laughter, and heading into one place: Fortnite.

Even though phones and devices aren't allowed at school, Fortnite is still everywhere—just not on screens. It's in the hallways, in the lunch queue, in whispered conversations and loud ones too. Students talk about it constantly—who won, who's trash, who got the rarest skin, and who's grinding the hardest. And with that talk often comes swearing. Aggressive, careless language has become normal. People shout insults based on a game, and tension builds over something that's not even happening in real life. It's changed the energy of school. The fun, the creativity, the kindness—it's all been pushed to the side because Fortnite dominates every conversation. It's loud, intense, and leaves many of us feeling unheard or pushed out.

Some students used to love drawing, reading books, or kicking a football around at lunchtime. But now they're glued to the idea of Fortnite. I've seen pupils stop paying attention in class because their minds are stuck on new skins or unlocking the next tier. I've overheard arguments about who has better gear, higher rankings, or who's "trash" because they haven't played enough. Friendships are built on pixels instead of kindness. A sense of community is breaking down—and all over a digital battleground.

One of the most painful things to witness is when children who don't play Fortnite get ignored, laughed at, or pushed aside. Sometimes it's because their families can't afford a console. Other times it's because their parents said no for safety reasons. But the result is the same—they get excluded from conversations, from inside jokes, from the group. And some end up giving in just so they're not alone. But the moment they start playing, it doesn't take long before they're stuck too—playing into the night, snapping at siblings, struggling to concentrate, and constantly chasing a feeling that never truly lasts.

The change in mood is visible. A boy I used to laugh with is now quiet and withdrawn, his head always down. Another threw his schoolbag across the room because he lost a match the night before. These aren't just bad days. These are signs of stress, of frustration, of something deeper going wrong. And it's all being caused by a game that was supposed to be about fun.

At home, the effects are just as bad. I've listened to classmates complain about arguments with parents—fights over screen time, missed meals, skipped homework, and hiding devices. Fortnite has taken over routines. It's ruined bedtime. It's created walls between children and their families. Some mums and dads try to take control, but many feel overwhelmed. Epic Games built Fortnite to be addictive, and when a game is designed to override self-control, parental supervision isn't enough. What used to be five minutes of play turns into hours. And what used to be a quick match can eat an entire day.

A lot of this continues because many parents aren't being careful enough. They might assume Fortnite is harmless or just a way for kids to blow off steam. Some don't realise how often their child is playing, how many hours disappear into the game, or how much pressure is building up beneath the surface. Others struggle to say no because they don't want their child to feel left out—but that kindness can turn into silence when problems start growing. And for those who do set limits, Fortnite often finds a way around them. It's not the parents' fault entirely—this game was built to outsmart boundaries—but there's still a responsibility to ask deeper questions, to stay present, and to notice when fun turns into fixation.

I've felt this hurt, too. I've been pushed aside, felt invisible, and seen people I care about change before my eyes. That's why I'm speaking out. I'm not asking for Fortnite to be banned because I hate games. I'm asking for the age restriction to be increased to 16+—or at least drastically changed to actually be appropriote for 7 year olds—because it's hurting people. It's hurting children. And no one seems to be listening.

Developers need to realise that this isn't just about entertainment anymore. It's affecting mental health. It's causing bullying. It's creating fear and pressure and loneliness. I want teachers, parents, leaders, and communities to see what's happening in our schools, in our friendships, in our homes. Because it's real. It's happening now. And if we wait too long, the damage will be too deep to undo.

I care about my classmates, and I care about the future. Because if this continues, more children will fall behind. They'll stop caring about real-world experiences and lose sight of who they are outside the game. And that thought hurts, because I want them to thrive—not just level up.

Children as young as six—or even younger—are playing Fortnite daily. Some still struggle with spelling and reading, yet they know how to battle, build, and unlock skins. And it breaks my heart. If this is how they grow up—measuring self-worth through wins and cosmetics—what kind of adults will they become? Will they know how to solve problems without rage-quitting? Will they know how to communicate face-to-face, or will they hide behind usernames and silence? Will they feel joy in real achievements, or only when something flashy pops up on a screen? These questions bring a lump to my throat. Because the younger this starts, the harder it is to undo—and the more we risk losing a generation to something that doesn't give back.

What makes this even more shocking is that Fortnite is still treated as suitable for children as young as seven—even though nothing about it feels safe for someone that young. There's violence, intense competition, and constant online interaction with strangers. No child should be dealing with that kind of pressure, especially when they're still learning how to manage emotions, build confidence, and stay focused at school. Just because a game looks colourful doesn't mean it's harmless. Fortnite may seem fun on the surface, but what's hiding behind those dances and cosmetics is far more serious—and it's time people recognised that.

You're probably wondering why this petition is so long—and the answer is because it needs to be. Fortnite is more than just a game to us; it's a platform where millions of players connect, compete, and create. So when things start to feel unfair or broken, it takes more than a few sentences to explain. This petition dives deep to cover everything—from the smallest frustrations to the biggest changes we hope to see—because every detail matters when it comes to making Fortnite better for everyone.

Please sign this petition if you've seen someone changed by Fortnite. Sign it if you believe games should be joyful, not harmful. Sign it if you believe childhood should be filled with creativity, laughter, and connection—not exclusion, stress, and pressure. Every single voice matters—and today, this one is mine.

Together, we can take this seriously. Together, we can protect those who feel powerless. Together, we can make sure school stays a place of learning—not a place overshadowed by a video game.

Thank you for listening.

— Joshua