I wrote this for a flash fiction crime competition with a limit of 150 words. I don't think it quite works, which is probably why I never sent it in or posted it anywhere. As it was in January 2014 floods were topical.
The council who’d called it a ‘glorified call centre’ when justifying cutbacks had stopped complaining when the floods came. Now Amber’s calm voice and excellent planning skills were in great demand in the fire brigade communications centre. She was putting in a lot of overtime, as were her friends from Blackwell Station, the next on the list to be closed.
“Hello Flood Assistance Helpline.”
“You’ve been forced to leave your house. No one got left behind? No pets?”
“I’m sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I have to ask, even if you’re a county councillor. What was the state of the property?”
“You had to leave in a hurry? I’ll see if we can get someone to take a look at it. If you’ll just give me your address.”
“Well, that’s lucky. Blackwell Station are nearby in their boat. I’m sure they can give it appropriate protection.”