6. Trees

Cautiously, William put his foot through the doorway and gingerly touched the grass with his foot. It certainly felt like real grass. A vagrant puff of a breeze came through carrying with it the scents of pine and possible rain. 
Mentally overlaying the layout of his apartment with the scene out of National Geographic that he was seeing. If he was right, then his couch would be right where that fallen tree was laying. So with great confidence he plunged through and into the forest. he marched straight to the fallen tree and sat on the trunk.
It didn't feel like his couch.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself sitting on his couch, movie playing on the TV. When he opened them, he was still sitting on the trunk of a tree, staring at a large rock protruding from the ground. 
In an additional attempt to wake himself up, he pinched himself on the leg.
"Ouch!" he cried, his voice echoing through the trees. Since it didn't work, he wished that he hadn't pinched himself quite so hard. That was going to leave a bruise. He rubbed the spot vigorously to help the pain go away. "Idiot," he chided himself.
"I'll say," said a voice from behind him. William jumped off the log and spun around ready for fight or flight. He felt rather silly when he saw nothing there except a tree. It was a lovely tree with a knot on it that rather resembled an old man's face. "Trees never pinch themselves," the knot face said on a creaky old voice. "We get pinched... and poked, and prodded, and cut, but we never do it to ourselves."
William gasped and took a couple of involuntary steps backwards. "You're a talking tree," he said accusingly, "but trees can't talk. That's ridiculous!"
"Oh," the tree said sadly, "you're on of those."
"I'm one of 'those' what?" he demanded, his voice on the edge of hysteria.
"One of them what don't believe that trees kin talk." it said as if it were obvious.