Punch With Thumbs Outside

As soon as my fist made contact with his nose he fell on the ground with a thud. "Good job beth" my subconscious boomed. I gazed at my blood ridden knuckle (HIS NOT MINE). The crowd was now dull and only few gasps were evident. Why? Well because he was lying on the ground curled up in a little ball, knees touching his chest and his hands covering his nose, which for a fact was bleeding like a faucet. He was whimpering in pain. A laugh escaped my mouth. He's got to be kidding, I'm sure I hadn't put down all of my energy into the punch, but his face said otherwise.