AN: There's never really been an origin for Jinx in the cartoon, from what I've seen and read, so I got to wondering about where she was born. She strikes me as a Midwest girl who managed to find her way out west in hopes of a better life... and of course when I heard this song, it fit far too well. Not wanting to pick a real town for this, I created a fictional one. I noticed that there are a lot of Native American names for towns in Oklahoma, so I reached back ten years to my trigonometry lessons and mangled the old SOHCAHTOA mnemonic.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't make money, don't sue me because I'm beautiful.

Blown Away- Carrie Underwood

Socatoah had always been a small town, full of small minds. Once upon a time, it had been a little coal mining town, filled with grubby roughnecks covered in sweat and soot. The mines closed down in the twenties, and those who had the means got out just as fast as they could. Those who couldn't or wouldn't escape spread their seed around the town, and a generation of hard-working, hard-drinking farmers were born. Ever since, that stock seemed to have done nothing but fester, the same two thousand souls milling around in different bodies and different families for generations. No one ever came into Socatoah unless they were lost, and no one ever heard of anyone leaving since the coal dried up.

Every now and then, though, life has a little glitch, a minute shifting of billions of probabilities to accommodate the impossible. One such shift brought Jennifer Wrangler into the world. Probability, though, is impartial, and will almost invariably balance great fortune with crippling misfortune. However miraculous her birth, its circumstances were no cause for celebration.

Grace Jones, the unwed orphan girl who brought Jennie into the world, only disobeyed the father of her child once, when she spared her daughter's life. Very few people in Socatoah dared impugn the charismatic junior pastor of the town's only church, but the woman carrying his child was braver than anyone suspected. Sundays always saw her seated in the pews, even when she began to show a bump without the requisite jewelry to make such a thing acceptable. She ignored the muttering and whispering that drowned out the words of forgiveness the senior pastor read from that leather-bound book they all professed to love.

It was only when young Pastor Wrangler took the pulpit with a pointed message of sexual purity, eyes boring into the mother-to-be as he spewed venom cherry-picked from a book of forgiveness, that her gaze clouded over and her face set in a permanent blank look.

Her little girl was born without fanfare, delivered by the town's wizened old doctor in the wee hours of the morning. If anyone had bothered to ask him about the birth, he would have said it had gone precisely as expected, up until he had asked Grace if she intended to leave the father's name blank on the birth certificate.

The revelation of Jennifer Wrangler's parentage destroyed the young pastor, of course. In the blink of an eye, he went from being groomed to lead the faithful flock to being all but run out of town with his woman and newborn child. In the end, all that saved them was his reluctant agreement that they be wedded. The papers were drawn up that day and the wedding took place with a pair of fifty-dollar rings picked up from a pawn shop one town over.

Stripped of his position in the church, James Wrangler found himself falling back on his family's two professions— auto repairs and whiskey drinking. His daughter never in her life saw him smile, or smelled his breath without the stench of whiskey all over it.

It seemed that Grace Wrangler's courage dried up entirely with the change of last name; the cowering creature who took her husband's beatings with nothing but apologies was no role model for her child.

When Jennie began complaining of migraines, neither parent listened, so absorbed were they in their own private miseries. When she emerged from her room after a two-day headache with pink eyes and hair, though, she certainly had their attention.

It wasn't long after that freak accidents began happening wherever Jennie went; windows shattered for no reason, the electricity would fail at school on test days, cars broke down all along the street whenever she stumbled. The townsfolk began muttering of a demon, forged by the pastor's unholy union with that orphan girl. Did anyone remember where she had come from, after all? Perhaps she was a witch sent by Satan to seduce a good man to his downfall.

There were no tears when Jennie came home one afternoon to find Grace Wrangler hanging from the ceiling fan; the woman had never truly been her mother, whatever the birth certificate might say. She gave the sheriff their address over the phone, mentioning that there was really no rush, as her mother was most definitely dead already.

The greatest tragedy of Grace's death was that James Wrangler suddenly found himself bereft of his favorite punching bag, and the way he saw it, the Lord had seen fit to provide him with a replacement who no longer qualified as human.

She held out for a year before she began to crack. Finally, the day came when she had had enough.

With her father passed out on their battered old couch, having exhausted his drunken rage, little Jennie prayed in earnest for the first time in her young life.

Socatoah had seen a lot of tornadoes in its time, but none like the one that touched down that day. The funnel stayed over just one home, scattering it in millions of pieces, before drawing back up into the sky. The people of the town would talk about it for years, saying that the Devil had come to claim his own, and good riddance. The former pastor and his daughter were not missed.

No one that day saw the battered little girl walking away from the approaching twister towards the Interstate. Not a soul was witness to the dried tears on her cheeks, nor the deadness in her eyes.

There would never be enough rain in Oklahoma to wash the sins out of that house. The closest possible thing to absolution was to tear its very foundation out and crumble it to pieces in the wind.