Another from ROADKILL. Jeff, mid-teens, lies in the road next to Danny.

(Warning: Using this monologue without permission is illegal, as is reproducing it on a website or in print in any way.)

JEFF
I'm not touching you. I'm just next to you. Like sardines.
(beat)
The car tire could run over me, and you could be on the outside and not get hit at all.
(beat)
It could happen. Dead and ugly, tire tracks all over me. Maybe my stomach explodes from all the pressure, my face caves in, or there's a hole in the middle of my body. And my guts are hanging out. My Mom's cryin' next to me, really hard; it's hard to tell if she's crying or screaming. She's holding my old stuffed dog, Ruff Ruff, and she's squeezing it so hard the beans ooze out of his beanbag head, just like my intestines, until finally my Dad pulls her away. He has to pry her fingers open. And there you are, not a scratch, staring at the one glazed-over eyeball that's left in my head.
(beat)
If a tire went over my face, I bet it could like totally shmush an eyeball, or the part of my face that got run over would just collapse. That'd be so cool, like you're driving on Face Highway
(makes his hand a car and makes car noises)
and everything's cool and suddenly--
(makes plummeting sound, perhaps a whistle)
off a cliff where the road used to be.